


The Return From the Event Horizon

by Ivylore



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, star wars AU - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivylore/pseuds/Ivylore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Anakin Skywalker died along with Mace Windu in Palpatine's chamber that night? What if Luke never made it to his relatives on Tatooine, and Leia was never sent to Alderaan? Warning: This fic deals with extremely mature themes.</p><p>Special Note: I began this story a very long time ago, but real life got in the way and I never finished it. From time to time, I have pulled it out and continued to work on it. I've always had a plan. As one can imagine, I have edited and revised here and there. There are some minor changes to the original story so I am posting anew. One of my resolutions for 2016 is to complete this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it began...

**Portion in italics taken from Matthew Stover's _Revenge of the Sith_.**

 

_Prelude_

 

_Anakin looked from the dead hand on the ledge to the living once above him, and what he saw there chocked him like an invisible fist crushing his throat._

_The hand on his shoulder was human._

_The face… wasn't._

_The eyes were cold and feral yellow, and they gleamed like those of a predator lurking beyond a fringe of firelight; the bone around those feral eyes had swollen and melted and flowed like durasteel spilled from a fusion smelter, and the flesh that blanketed it had gone corpse-gray and coarse as rotten synthplast._

_Stunned with horror, stunned with revulsion, Anakin could only stare at the creature. At the shadow._

_Looking into the face of the darkness, he saw his future._

_"Now come inside," the darkness said._

_After a moment, he did._

And paused.

At the fringes of his conscious was a voice from his dreams. _No, Anakin, no!_

"Qui-Gon?" Anakin whispered, taking a step back. He was in shock. He wasn't thinking straight, couldn't make sense of what had just happened. He glanced again toward the window ledge where seconds before Mace Windu had tumbled to his death. Why hadn't he stopped him? Helped him?

 _There will never be balance_ , the voice said. _Not this way…_

"Anakin," said the darkness, insistent now.

Anakin couldn't bring himself to respond. The galaxy felt as though it had been rent at the seams. The Force itself seemed to shriek in outrage. There was no balance. There was only the darkness, stretching like a black hole, swallowing the fabric of space and time and everything he had ever known so that it all ceased to exist. The pull was inescapable.

Soon he would pass the event horizon and be lost forever.

" _Now,_ Anakin."

But he had not reached the event horizon yet. It was not too late to fight.

"No." He barely recognized his own voice, distorted. " _No_!"

"As you wish," Palpatine said.

The fallen Jedi Master's lightsaber sprang from his dead hand and pierced Anakin's heart with the intake of a breath. Anakin Skywalker fell backwards off the window ledge with one thought, one memory, and one dream of all that could have been.

 _Padmé_.


	2. Chapter 2

She didn't have the most beautiful voice on Coruscant, but it was sultry, mournful, and honest and Han Solo genuinely enjoyed that. He could buy anything these days, but he couldn't buy honesty, and in his business, he sure as hell couldn't get it free. When the song ended, he had the bartender send her a glass of the finest T'iil-T'iil wine and an invitation to his table. She came and slid into the high-backed chair, arranging her shimmersilk skirts that were the colour of Ithorian saffron so that one knee was bare. Her carefully shaped eyebrows arched gently and her lips were lightly painted with transparent gloss. She wore white Jade roses tucked into the loose pile of hair and the heady floral scent trailed her.

"Captain Solo," she said.

No one had called him 'captain' in a long time. "Does my reputation precede me?"

"Which one?"

He wondered if they call him a womanizer or a tycoon.

She took a cautious sip of her wine and sat close enough that her right thigh almost grazed his. "You're the Solo in Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc."

"We're one and the same."

"Then I should warn you that I'm terribly difficult," she declared.

"So am I."

"I've actually been called 'stubborn' in thirty languages."

"I've been called 'offensive' in fifty."

"I have nothing to my name."

"I own more than you can imagine."

"I hope you're prepared to give it all up," she said plainly. "People close to me tend to lose more than they bargained for."

"I'll take my chances." Han dropped his voice a notch so that patrons at nearby tables couldn't hear them. "What about you?"

"Me?" With the countenance of royalty, she turned and eyed the small corner stage, chin held high. "I have no need to take chances. I merely maintain the illusion of a life. They prefer that."

He wasn't not sure who 'they' was, but the dare, or the challenge, was out in the open and he couldn't resist a challenge. "Let's add to the illusion then," he coaxed. "Have dinner with me."

"Here?" She gazed past the hanging strips of hylaian marsh bamboo toward the restaurant side of the Manarai. The Manarai was one of Coruscant's finest restaurants, built into the wall of the Umate, the highest peak of the Manarai Mountain. Unfortunately, it was co-owned by Prince Xizor, and at the moment, Prince Xizor and his entourage were in the process of evicting several customers from his favourite table so that they did not have to wait. "This may be my place of employment," she said, "But often I find the clientele here rather coarse."

"Hey." Han winked. "I was planning to have dinner in there."

"Exactly."

Amused, Han grinned. He didn't care for the Falleen either. He and Lando had been doing their utmost to avoid dealings that linked them with Xizor's Black Sun criminal syndicate. "I happen to own a suite upstairs," he said, pretending to sound pragmatic.

"Yes, I know." She flirted back carelessly, shifted the bare knee purposely again. "But you see, we've already established that your reputation precedes you?"

"Then I know a decent dive seventeen levels down."

"No thank you." She leaned in to him, her voice low and husky. "For the record, I prefer Alderaanian or Andoan ale." With that, she abandoned the expensive drink, barely touched, on his table.

"She's trouble," Lando Calrissian said, slipping back into his seat.

"I believe I lost that round," Han said idly. "Do you know her?"

"I know of her. Her name is Leia Skywalker and she's a very classy player if you catch my drift."

"She goes for credits?"

"No. Not the kind you put in a bank." Lando snipped the end off a cigarro made of rolled rashallo leaves and dropped it in the table's snuff pot. "She runs in circles too close to the Emperor for my tastes."

"She turned you down, huh?"

"I've never been able to resist trouble." Lando lit the end of his cigar and the air filled with the spicy-sweet scent of rashallo. "Especially when it's that beautiful."

"What happened to Miliang? Is he meeting us for dinner or not?"

"Oh that. Cancelled. Said his wife was in a minor skyline accident today." Lando pointed to the glass of T'iil-T'iil wine. "Did she leave it?"

"Drink it."

"I cancelled our table and rescheduled for later next week."

Han rolled his eyes. "Great."

"I hope you're going to be more charming than that."

"Oh, I can be charming. My charming side is off-duty."

"He loves you, though for the life of me, I don't know why." Lando savoured a long draught of wine. "Tell him a few spine-tingling smuggling stories and he'll be signing an exclusivity contract with us before the main course arrives."

"It's never that easy."

"Sure it is."

"No it isn't."

"See, I'm an eternal optimist and you're so cynical you could sour blue milk by scowling at it. This is why we're good business partners." Lando jerked a thumb toward the stage. "What about her?"

Leia Skywalker was in the midst of an animated conversation with the slitherhorn player. She faced away from them and Han absorbed the view appreciatively. The back of her saffron-red gown was cutaway to the waist and her pale skin glowed in the lounge's ambient lighting. "What about her?" he asked.

"You should send her an ale." Lando took a deep breath and gulped down another few swallows of wine. "Otherwise you're going to be sitting here all alone."

"Where are you going?"

"To meet Shasheva at the Opera House."

"Last minute?"

Lando shrugged helplessly. "What can I say? She owns a box." He patted him on the back. "Have a good night, my friend. Put that charming side of yours to practice."

Han waited until Leia had sung her last set of the evening before he followed his partner's unsolicited advice. As a rule, he tried not to take any advice Lando Calrissian doled out that didn't have to do with investments, but it wasn't in his nature to give up on a woman so easily.

This time, Leia slid into Lando's empty chair with air of purpose. "Do you have a ship?" she asked.

"Yes."

"More than one?"

Han shrugged. "Yes."

"My. Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but unless you've cloned yourself, you can only fly one at a time. Unless of course," she intoned, "You can't fly them and merely hire out pilots."

"Oh, I can fly them, Sweetheart," he said.

"Then tell me." She cupped her chin in the heel of her hand and peered at him inquiringly. "What does traveling at lightspeed feel like?"

"It's a rush. No matter how precise a pilot you are or how advanced your navigational system is, there's always a risk that you've miscalculated, that you're gonna hit a gravity well or black hole or fly yourself through the heart of a sun. It's all about beating the odds." Han finished, surprised he's said that much. The truth was he missed flying for a living. He expected her to mock him, but instead her face grew intensely inquisitive.

She peered at him curiously. "Flying is your passion then?"

It wasn't how he would put it. It was an overly emotional way to put it, but he said, "You could call it that."

"Sounds like you're in the wrong business."

"Probably."

"Maybe next week," she suggested coolly, sipping from the beer tumbler now that the foam had settled. "We can arrange a trade."

"What kind of trade?"

"It so happens that I need someone to teach me how to pilot a starship."

"Well, it's not like learning how to fly a hovercraft," he insisted. "First you need to know all the technical stuff. Know how to calculate jumps, everyday physics, astrophysics, basic system maintenance and upkeep."

"I know all that."

Han started shaking his head. Maybe she was younger than he thought – a kid with delusions of grandeur and a dead serious expression.

She clinked her glass down so hard the table rattled. "Test me," she demanded.

"On what?"

"Anything."

"Ahh…" Han thought for a moment, and then asked, "What's the function of a null quantum field generator?"

"It stabilizes the vessel and keeps it from prematurely emerging from hyperspace. Otherwise most spacecraft would drop out of hyperspace whenever a piece of debris came within ten meters of it." She leaned in. "That's textbook. That's first year astrophysics. You're mocking me."

"I'm not mocking you."

"But anyone could answer that."

"Fine. What do you need if you want to modify the hyperdrive on a YT-series freighter from a Class 2 to a Class 0.5?"

"Besides a death-wish?"

"That's never what I called it."

"A way to keep your ship from falling apart?" 

It wasn't a question so much as an exclamation.

"You're not thinking off your feet."

"Fine." Leia pursed her lips in concentration. "Presuming you've overcome the small but annoying problem of your ship's structural integrity being incapable of withstanding the initial jump, you need larger thruster ports. You also need to recalibrate the alluvial dampers and override them to alter the thrust output of ion particles from the hyperdrive generator. And if you're going to that, you need to make sure you've rebalanced the motivator so that your navigational system doesn't drop you in the middle of traffic along the Permelian Trade Route." She furrowed her brow and focused on the table's milk-stone marble surface. "You… well you'd also require a more powerful acceleration compensator and need to reinforce the containment shielding to prevent a radiation leak. And upgrade the heating shunts." She looked up. "And lastly, I suppose if you plan on flying anywhere near a civilized system where her transponder can be read, you've got to crack into your master system and alter the security configurations."

Han shrugged and refused to let on that she'd impressed him. "You can learn a hell of a lot from datareaders."

"I don't think there's a regulator or an acceleration compensator that can protect a ship as small as the YT-series. How did you do it?" She widened her eyes with keen understanding. "You managed it, didn't you?"

"If you increase your power by about fifty percent and add supplementary shift shields you can make 0.5 and come out of hyper in perfect shape." Han stopped himself. As a matter of personal habit, he didn't talk about the Millennium Falcon. Or Chewbacca. The past was meaningless and their memories were better off left in the Corporate Sector with their remains. Still, this was the most scintillating conversation he'd had with a woman in years. "You really want to learn how to fly?"

"Yes."

"What exactly are we trading for?"

The expression on the rest of her face was strictly innocent. "Dinner."

He smiled in a way that he knew made him look both cocky and charming. "Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner."

Crooked beneath the table on the plush seat between them, resting face-up, lay her hand. The invitation was discreet and invisible to the overhead holocameras. Han wondered if by 'dinner' she meant 'sex,' and reached down and ran his index finger across the crease of her lifeline. "Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

He was her protector and her only living family. When they were young, his eyes had been bluer than the skies of Chandrila and his hair the white-blonde of a mother's wistful memory. Now, his eyes were steel grey and his hair the colour of hallway shadows. He was a master at hiding. He hid his strength. He hid his feelings. He acted as though he hid her, but she knew he couldn't, knew that they watched her and it didn't matter for he trusted no one, not even her. His lips had once been warm on her cheek and now they felt like ice on her mouth.

He showed up in the middle of the night and she could feel the surge of potency within him before he even arrived. It woke her, throbbing deep inside her chest as though it belonged to her. He had a keycard, but she still slipped on a robe and met him at the door.

He was a real man are despite his slightness and the subtle sense of power he exuded was tangible to both Force-users and the Force-blind. It buzzed like an incessant pulse of solar energy, vibrant and static. Tonight he was drunk, but not on spice, alcohol, or anything chemical that she could name. Adrenaline. Power, perhaps. A recent victory. A death.

Leia knew better than to inquire, so she embraced him and reminded herself that she must never think of betraying him in his presence. 

Never.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm well."

"I woke you." He picked up her arm and lightly ran his fingertips over the tender skin between her elbow and wrist. "Were you dreaming?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

"The night Iolu died." She pulled away and went to sit on the conform lounge. He was in a good mood. She should take advantage of it, use it. "May I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything you like," he said, settling into the couch beside her.

They both knew it wasn't true.

"Have you learned anything about who might have killed him?" she asked.

The air in her living room quietly compressed. "You know I haven't."

Leia gazed toward the large window beyond which several skylanes passed. She broached the next question carefully. "Maybe you're afraid to tell me the truth, of how I'd react?"

"I swore I would never hurt you," he said.

Again is what he meant.

"I don't share my suspicions with you because it wouldn't do any good. You would fret and obsess and make yourself miserable. If I knew anything substantive, you know I wouldn't hide that from you. Haven't we been through this before?" he insisted. "When I got back from Yinchorr you were distraught. Do you think I would have wished that purposely on you?"

"No." In her mind, that year was fuzzy, like a long, drugged sleep brought on by an overdose of sweetblossom. For all his faults, for all he hid from her, she sensed that he was being mostly truthful. "What would have happened when you came back?" She looked at him. "You never say?"

"Nothing." His hands were cool against her neck, playing with the edge of her robe, sliding it from one shoulder. "I would have done nothing." His voice softened. "It was the dream. Or are you troubled about something more?"

She shook her head. "That was it."

Luke's eyes shifted like the undertow beneath the surface of the ocean, toward her bedroom, and Leia didn't look away. She'd learned that if she pretended in the beginning, eventually it felt real and he couldn't tell the difference. And if she hated herself in the morning, it wouldn't be the first time.

When they were little children, they had discovered that they could communicate in secret and shut out all adults. They'd invented imaginary homes on distant planets, with normal, real parents, where they could swim and have felinxes and flying aiwhas as pets and eat sugar-covered sunfruit and Pyollian cake. Their twin silence disturbed their caregivers at the 'home' so greatly (not disturbed, Leia recognized when her childhood is over, but alerted them) that the Emperor was summoned and after that came a battery of tests. Even then, Luke had been eager to please everyone, including the Emperor; he was always like that. Leia had been the stubborn and suspicious twin; she'd failed tests on purpose that she could easily have aced.

This was when they were five, and shortly afterward Luke had been taken away.

She sensed that he was in the mood to be gentle. "All right," she said, knowing they were the last words she would speak until tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

She wore a skin-tight flight suit to her first flying lesson. It was black with a double band of scarlet piping running up the outside of her legs, piping that ran straight up her sides and into the vee of her armpits. The lines were magnetic, carving the female curves of her body from the dark fabric like an artist's paintbrush or the tertiary feathers of a kitehawk. A single, heavy loop of hair tumbled down her back and when the CoreSec officer at the private, elite spaceport swiped her identity tag, the name that flashed on the console was 'Lusa Durasha.'

If Han Solo had made a mistake agreeing to this, he wasn't thinking about it, because he couldn't keep his eyes off the sway of her hips as they crossed the spaceport to Calrissian-Solo Inc.'s private docking bay.

Although his company owned a luxurious Marketta-class shuttle and a beautiful Mon Calamari DeepWater-class freighter, Leia was hungrily eyeing his personal pair of heavily converted Corellian light-freighters.

"You like Corellian ships?" he asked.

"Yes." She set her palm on the silver hull of the sleek YT-2400. "How about this one?"

"No one flies that but me."

"Why?"

"It's special."

Han took her by the elbow and guided her over to the slightly less impressive Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris, an older YT-1000 model with a center-mounted cockpit. It would be easier to learn on, easier to gauge docking and maneuvering as the cockpit was equidistant from the port and starboard sides. 

"Have you ever done a pre-flight check?" he asked as they reached the cockpit. 

She shook her head.

"All right, I'll talk you through it." He directed her to the pilot's chair. Then he leaned over her shoulder and began switching on the various systems, performing the check aloud, step by step.

By the time the engines had warmed up, the knees of her bodysuit were damp with sweat from her palms. He activated the repulsors and nudged the throttle forward until the ship began moving. "Ready to fly her?"

"Shouldn't I watch you first?"

"It's like sex," he said. "The only way you learn is by doing."

"I see." She promptly reached for the controls, pulled the yoke lightly to the right, and the ship began heading directly for the wall. She yanked the yoke to the left and overcompensated. Two breaths later, the portside angled precariously close to a large pleasure cruiser parked in the adjoining bay. "Han," she said, sounding panicked.

It was the first time she'd said his first name and he loved the sound of it. "Uh huh."

"Han, bad sex won't rupture a hull."

"I suppose you have a point," he drawled, reaching for the controls. "How about you take the copilot's chair until after we make our jump."

"We're jumping?" she asked sliding out of her seat.

"Don't worry."

"I'm not worried," she returned. "But I thought you needed advance clearance to jump from the atmosphere?"

"Sure, but I have standing clearance." 

"Oh."

"And…" He called up a series of coordinates on the navicomputer. "That'll do nicely. I happen to know a little space debris field that's about a ten-minute jump from here. It's a great place to practice maneuvers and there's no traffic."

After they made the jump to lightspeed, he turned and found her staring out through the transparisteel with rapturous expression on her face. The starlight was soft on her skin, like the warm volcanic sand on the beaches of Northern Corellia after the high-noon sun had passed.

"What do you think?"

"It's beautiful."

Han thought about the way she'd awkwardly grabbed for the controls. "You've never even flown on sims before, have you?" 

She dragged her gaze away from viewport and her eyes flickered defiantly, as though that was an accusation. "You said the only way you learn is by doing."

"Well, it does help if you have an idea of what you're supposed to be doing."

"I couldn't get access to the piloting sims at the university," she admitted reluctantly.

"Why?"

She shrugged, and then said conversationally. "Your friend with the cape said you were married."

"Used to be. Marriage didn't suit me."

"The monogamy?"

"The nagging." Han eyed her curiously. "You?"

"I feel the same way about questions that you do about nagging. Shouldn't you be teaching me something useful… like what all of these sensors stand for?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. They would continue this discussion later. "Rule number one, gloves." He reached into the bag beside him. "Rule number two; don't yank on anything. It's not like flying an airspeeder."

That was the beginning of her first lesson. After an hour flying around the debris field, she'd begun to develop a feel for the particular steering habits of the Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris. Although she didn't recognize all the controls and sensors on the heads-up-display and central console, once he'd named or pointed out any specific one, she could identify its function. She asked intelligent questions and made mental notes, and overall, she showed promising instincts, but she still had a long way to go. She would need to learn how to do low atmospheric flying, evasive flying, trouble-shooting, and how to react to sensor information quickly.

She also smelled good and she didn't shy away when he set his hands over hers and gave her pointers.

Once they had entered hyperspace for the return to Coruscant, he folded his hands behind his neck as though he had all the time in the world. "So, is Leia Skywalker the singer and Lusa Durasha her alter-ego with a thing for astrophysics and ships?"

"I asked you to teach me how to fly, not ask questions."

"I might be willing to teach a 'friend' how to fly but I want elaboration on the 'no questions' part. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Uneasily, she fidgeted with her gloves, tugging on the tips to loosen them. "Define 'trouble.'"

"If you want to fly again, with me," he threatened, "Then I suggest you start talking. If you don't, go ahead and keep your lips sealed."

"Well then, if you're going to put it like that. Officially..." She took a deep breath and peeled off her flight gloves, setting them delicately one by one on the console boards. "Officially, I'm a ward of the Emperor."

"And…" he prompted.

"I don't wish to remain as his ward."

That explained the forged identity chip. "So, let me guess. Your grand plan involves learning how to fly, getting your hands on a ship and taking off for some distant part of the galaxy where the Empire can never find you."

"You're warm."

"What do you plan on doing for a living?"

"I trained in theatre," she said. "And if I can fly, I can work as a pilot."

Han laughed. "It's a lot tougher to make a living as a pilot than you think if you're not registered with the Empire. That's if you can get enough credits together to buy your own ship. How much are you making singing part-time at the Manarai?" Han stifled his grin upon seeing the slight flare of her nostrils. "It's not enough for a ship, Sweetheart. And it must not be enough for flight lessons, or you'd already have your license."

"I suppose it's easy for you to look down on everyone who isn't worth a billion credits."

"I haven't always had money," he said. "Don't assume you know everything about me."

She folded her arms over her chest, cheeks flushed with indignant anger. "The way you've assumed you know everything about me."

"Listen. It would be a crime to let you think that there's a nice, cushy world where making a new life for yourself will be simple."

"I don't recall stating that I expected it to be easy or simple," she replied crisply.

"Well I've been out there. It's rough." He locked his jaw. A woman flying alone into a starport on a backwater tradeworld would also attract unwanted attention. "You're a beautiful woman. You'll age twenty years in five doing hard labour on Aduba-3 or Excarga, wind up working for a pleasure house in a spaceport town. You'd be better off hopping on the next passenger freighter for Alderaan or Duros and finding real entertainment in a civilized city."

"Alderaan and Duros aren't far enough away."

"From what?"

She shifted her shoulder noncommittally. "I'd prefer a world that has no Imperial ties or checkpoints."

Han rubbed his chin and checked the time. They had five minutes before they arrived back at Coruscant. "Like I said, we're close to few planets where you can hop on a passenger freighter. I'd be willing to-"

"No. It will only work if I have my own ship." She gritted her teeth, and her face filled with a determination so desperate that she inclined her head as if to hide it from him, as though he'd hit a raw, exposed nerve. Then she said, "Look, if you're not willing to teach me then, tell me now and I won't waste any more of your time."

"Don't worry. I'm good with secrets," he cut in. There was no sense arguing with her. Besides, the need to have that freedom was a drive that Han understood all too well, one that had absorbed him during his formative years and he would have thrown a punch at anyone who told him differently. He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling. Reflected above, he could see the crown of her head, rigidly tense. Her hands rested on her knees and she was twisting her fingers together. "All right," Han replied slowly, coming to a decision. "If you're serious about this, you're going to need a few extra sets of I.D tags. At least two sets. The best forgeries you can get, not whatever you passed off to that security agent down below." 

"Thank you." She looked directly at him and gratitude caused the tension to seep from her body. "I've heard rumours about you. That you know about this sort of thing – how to pull it off. That's why…" Her hands fluttered from knee to knee. "Let's simply say, I don't typically accept dinner invitations." 

Han grinned. "What else did you hear?"

"You worked as a smuggler until about six years ago, when you showed up on Coruscant and promptly became involved in one of the largest takeovers in the history of Imperial City."

"All true." Shortly after the takeover, he had negotiated for exclusive weaponry deals with both the Corellian Pirate's Association and the Smuggler's Guild. Since then, he had never looked back. "Mind my asking why would you be a ward of the Emperor in the first place?"

"Yes, I do." She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, voice lowering, as though they were back in the Manarai and she didn't want anyone to eavesdrop. "I know that you're a man of your word." Suddenly, the cool, collected woman from the nightclub was back. "Perhaps we should discuss what you want in return?"

The snug lines of her bodysuit caught his eye again. "Do you flirt with everyone to get what you want?"

"No. You're special. Like your other ship." She smiled. "What is it called again?"

"I didn't say." After a moment, he added, "The Rrakktorr's Revenge."

"Which means what?"

"The 'rrakktorr' is the inner strength and fire of the male Wookiee."

She let her eyes slowly wander over him from his boots all the way up to his forehead. "You're far too handsome to be calling yourself a Wookiee." She furrowed her brow. "I can only assume you must have named her in honour of someone. Or the memory of someone."

"Three points for you, Sweetheart."

"Did you achieve your revenge?"

"It's a state of mind, not a single act." Had it really been six years, no seven, since his life had deteriorated and...? He had to shake his head; his chest felt like it had been wrapped in a vice. "My ex-wife asked too many questions too." He smiled charmingly and set his elbow on the arm rest. "Let's get back to our deal."

"Of course." She reached up, unbound the looped knot of hair, and let it loose over her shoulders. "Where were we?"

Han swallowed, trying so hard not to stretch his hand across the narrow space that divided the pilot and co-pilot's seats. She would look beautiful on the deckplates or on the leather couches in the main hold, or his bed back on Coruscant, any place he could imagine her naked with the slinky bodysuit stripped away, but right at that moment, they weren't playing on equal ground and he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of that. If he'd learned anything over the years at Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc., it was that everyone should walk away from the table believing the deal was fair.

This wasn't.

"I thought you said I could buy you dinner," he said cheerfully, reaching for the small box on the floor beside the acceleration chair. "It's probably all cold and soggy, but I figured you wouldn't mind."

"No." She blinked at him and a slow, astonished smile spread across her face. "I mean, that would be great."


	5. Chapter 5

Roganda Ismaren was not quite a friend and not quite an enemy and this was not quite a social visit.

Regardless, Leia allowed her to link her arm through hers. They'd taken Roganda's private airspeeder to the subterranean levels, where the alien species had been pushed over the last two decades. Thousands of atmospheric dampeners stripped excess carbon dioxide from Coruscant's atmosphere, but like everything on Coruscant, higher was better. The subterranean air was rank and stale but the finest clothing couldn't be purchases in the human quarters. In the ethnic, multi-species quarters, the black market thrived; fine cloth was imported cheaply and laboriously hand-stitched at local fashion houses. Prices were still high, at least by Leia's standards, but they weren't as exorbitantly expensive as prices on the upper levels, where stores marketed fashionable clothing that was 'untouched by non-human hands'.

They looked at gowns made of shimmersilk, ottegan silk and taffeta. Stores crammed row upon row of the finest silks and taffetas, sei-weave and linens into their narrow spaces. Before long, Roganda was spending thousands of the emperor's pocket credits.

"At least down here they don't cater to that dreadful Imperial chic that's so popular these days," Roganda exclaimed. 

Everything about Roganda Ismaren was a study in stark contrasts. She had a child's breathy voice and a woman's body; she had sharp angled brows and gently curving cheekbones, her skin was a palette of pale creams against the jet-black of her hair. "Grey, grey, and more grey." She seized Leia's arm. "Let me buy you something."

"I don't need anything."

"For the club then?"

Leia shook her head but Roganda insisted, because it wasn't actually her credits. She held up a skirt of see-through Zoosha fabric. "Does this remind you of anything?"

"No."

"What about the night you cut your wrist and almost died."

"It was an accident," Leia said. "I didn't almost die." 

Roganda continued digging through the racks of gowns. "I have news."

Leia didn't want to ask. In five hours, she would be having her fourth flying lesson with Han Solo. Despite her determination that flying with him was a means to an end, she was drawn to him with an intensity that frightened her. She was imagining the way Coruscant looked from space, a planet of dazzling lights, like gemstones and glass broken up together, and she did that until she was verging on being rude. "What is it?"

"I'm three months pregnant."

"Oh." Leia quelled her gut reaction, her disgust (she knew very well who the father was), before it could surface. "Congratulations. That's wonderful."

Roganda's eyes manifested a cunning joy. "He's not the father," she whispered, as though she knew what Leia had been thinking. "It's Sarcev Quest. Now I've told you a secret." She said it as though Leia too, should tell her a secret. When Leia ventured nothing, she selected an amber gown and held it up against Leia's frame. "Luke told me it wasn't an accident. He said you did it on purpose."

"He was wrong." Leia wondered when it was that she managed to speak with Luke, and what else went on between them. "This isn't my colour."

"How about this one?" Roganda held up a pleated off-the-shoulder dress of cyrene silk that was sheer enough to be an under-dress. It was iridescent green, and shimmered like the wings of Jabiimi dragonflies in sunlight.

"It's lovely," Leia admitted.

"Try it on." Roganda ushered her into a dressing room. As Leia slipped the dress over her head, Roganda said, "I thought you were dead when we found you. There was so much blood. I nearly fainted. Were you singing the night before last?"

"No."

"I commed you twice and you never answered."

"You should have left a message. I must have switched my comm off by accident." Leia was grateful for the privacy of the dressing room. She would have to be more careful when she flew and plan her excuses ahead of time. Once they reached the atmosphere, she was out of range. Predictably, Roganda was keeping tabs on her at the bequest of Palpatine.

Leia exited the dressing room and smoothed the gown over her hips. The heat-set pleats hugged her body. "What do you think?"

"We have to take it." Roganda fussed with her hair. "You should wear it up."

A short time later, they were outside waiting for Roganda's private airspeeder to pick them up. Roganda began complaining about the air quality, and for once, Leia felt her grumbling was warranted. Beside the dress shop was a fortune-teller's stand. It advertised both tea and purified air.

Leia pointed. "Let's go in and wait."

"No." Roganda grabbed her arm. Her fingers pinched. "She's probably a mind-witch."

"Hardly."

"She's a screamer."

"She's an Ayrou," Leia corrected. "She can tell you if it's a boy or a girl."

"A med-droid can do that."

"Consider it a test; see if she's any good."

"Hm." The notion intrigued Roganda. "All right."

The fortune-teller's stand was tiny and cluttered; bolts of imported fabric were propped up against the walls, and more, unrolled fabric hung from the ceiling and covered the windows. Leia purchased two bottles of water and settled Roganda down at the tiny center table. Then she set several credit chips in the coffer.

The fortune-teller was descended from an avian species. Her face was bony and her cheekbones jutted back and out where a human's ears would be located. A mane of black-violet feathers tumbled over her shoulders, the feathers carefully arranged fan-style. She asked them both to briefly hold her seeing stone.

"What do you seek?" The Ayrou's high-pitched voice warbled like sandpaper.

Leia nudged Roganda gently with her elbow. "Ask."

"Am I to bear a son or a daughter?"

"A son…" The Ayrou's feathers shivered. 

"What is it?" Roganda gasped.

"Your labour will be long and difficult. You will scream for something to ease your pain and it shall be denied you, even as your flesh tears." The Ayrou leaned forward. "My dear, he knows. The birth shall be your punishment."

Roganda's face was pale and she was quivering like a young whisperkit. Leia vaulted to her feet angrily. "That's enough. We're ready to go."

"What about your question, my dear."

Leia's jaw locked. "I don't have one."

"You dropped credits in the coffer. An answer awaits you."

"Give me the credits back."

"It's too late. The answer is already here." She preened her fan of feathers with talon-like hands. "Not when you ask him to," she warbled. "Not when you ask him to." 

In the airspeeder, Leia put her arm around a sobbing Roganda, feeling poignantly sympathetic. She activated the privacy screen so that the driver couldn't listen in or watch them. "It's all right," she soothed. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"No one knows what he can be like," Roganda sobbed. "He gives me to his most esteemed guests, governors. I'm nothing more than a belonging, something he shares." Roganda wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress. "This child could belong to a handful of men," she hissed. "He can't know."

Leia winced inside. She'd heard rumours, stories, from Luke. "You could leave," she whispered softly. I would help you, she almost said, but she knew better.

Roganda looked stricken, as though Leia had told her she planned to murder the Emperor. "I can never leave." Through tears, she asked, "What was your question?"

"I hadn't thought of one yet," Leia lied.

***  
Five years earlier…

She'd sensed the power in the medcentre room before she even awoke. It was warm, unlike the cold chill of the Emperor. When she opened her eyes, she saw a man who was both strange and familiar sitting on her bed.

"You're so…. beautiful." He shook a head covered in dirty blond hair. "I don't know why I can't remember you."

"Luke?"

"Yes. I'm Luke."

She sat up awkwardly. Her right arm was encased in a clear suction cast; she could see bacta against her bare skin, against the cuts on her wrist. She closed her eyes slowly and opened them. He didn't disappear and his weight still bent the bed.

"Why did you try to kill yourself?"

"I didn't." She hadn't thought about the consequences of what she'd been about to do. "It was an accident. I didn't want to wear his gift."

In the preparation rooms at the rear of the Senate rotunda, the gifts from the Emperor had been waiting for them, wrapped in gold paper and tied with jeweled ribbon. When Leia had picked up the dress, she'd seen her hands shimmering behind the fabric as though she held them beneath running water. Loveti moth fiber was soft, light as air and, when un-dyed, utterly translucent.

The preparation rooms were private; she hadn't seen the other girls and didn't know how they would react. She'd peeked out through the slatted door and seen Roganda Ismaren proudly marching toward the Emperor, high breasts jiggling, the pink of her nipples and dark pubic hair showing through. In horror, Leia had watched as the emperor received her, his hungry eyes half-obscured by melted folds of flesh and a concealing hood. As that was unfolding, one of the chaperones had said to another outside her door, "How lovely Roganda looks in blue."

Then, Leia had understood it was a game. Just as it would have made more sense to have the gowns delivered to the finishing school, but the Emperor's mind tricks couldn't extend that far. To refuse would be to reveal herself.

The Emperor made everyone so nervous that decanters of wine had been set out in the preparation rooms. She'd seized a goblet, filled it with wine and gulped down half of it while staring at herself in the mirror. She couldn't remember if she'd thrown a punch at the mirror, or if she'd thrown her entire body, but upon impact, the fragile glass shattered. One wrist had snapped back upon impact, and the breaking glass had cut an artery. The blood rained against the mirror. She had studied it for a moment, picked up the glass, and cut again. The colour had drained from her face until she was a ghastly shade of white, and the wondered if she was bleeding out from the top down, and if it really mattered any more… She'd gathered her gift - several thousand credits worth of Loveti moth fiber - and wrapped it like a tourniquet around her wrist. Then, she'd crumpled to the floor and waited for someone to find her.

"Are you like me?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You knew about the dresses didn't you?" he asked. "You were the only one who refused to wear it. And the girl with black hair… who is she?"

"Roganda Ismaren," Leia said.

"Yes. She was the only one who wore nothing beneath it."

It was a test, Leia thought. She realized why he was there; they thought she'd attempted suicide and that assumption had engendered her with power. She also realized that she was still in the Imperial Palace.

"Oh," he said. Then, "oh," again, as though he'd forgotten something important. "The Emperor is worried about you."

Hostility rose like a dragon. "If he sent you-"

"No one is forcing you to do anything. That was his message. End of message." He gritted his teeth. "I'm angry with him."

"Why?"

"For not telling me about you before today." He leaned close enough that she could see he had a broken blood vessel on his left eyelid. "Are you like me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you know?"

Later, she would recognize the slight pressure against her mind, the sudden desire to offer the truth to him, to offer him anything. At that moment, she thought she made a choice. She wanted so desperately to tell him the truth. "Yes."

"Why don't they know about you?"

"I don't want them to."

"I won't tell them," he promised. "Your secret is safe with me."

For the first time since old Etti Durasha had died, Leia felt as though someone cared about her. She threw her arms around him. "I've been waiting for you to come back for so long."

It had been a child's dream, a child's wish.

It was as though no one had ever touched him, hugged him. There was a long awkward moment before his arms remembered what to do. "I would have come back," he said. "I swear, if I'd remembered."


	6. Chapter 6

"Punch it!"

Leia punched it. Inertia rammed her back against her seat as the ship launched into hyperspace.

This night's flying lesson had been her best yet. At the asteroid belt, she'd successfully navigated the Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris around a series of jagged, pitted asteroids, and, when one had suddenly upended and swung towards the old YT-1000, she'd altered course, accelerated and avoided a potentially serious impact without breaking into a sweat. Finally, she'd plotted and executed the return jump to Coruscant without his stepping in once.

"I did it!" she exclaimed.

"You sure did." Han Solo was grinning proudly. He always wore black and was prone to deadpan jokes, but he had a sensuous, relaxed way of moving and piloting, as though nothing ever bothered him.

Leia unbuckled her crash webbing, hopped up from her seat, leaned down and kissed him because she knew by now that he wouldn't kiss her first. His bottom lip was deliciously full and soft between her teeth and he kissed her as though they were never coming out of hyperspace. He ran his hands down the outside of her thighs and her body flushed with heat. "Um… I need to bring us out."

"You have two minutes," he said with a wry grin, although she hadn't seen him so much as glance at the console chronometer. "But we're not going planetside right away. My company's pleasure cruiser is currently in orbit. We're going to dock and have dinner there. They're cooking right now."

"They?"

"The chef and his assistant. You didn't think I was going to keep feeding you cold restaurant food?"

She hadn't noticed until then that he hadn't brought a bag. "Will they be gone before we arrive?"

Han shrugged, his hand still sliding up and down her outer thigh. "Yes. There's a skeleton crew flying her, but they're paid not to notice guests."

The hanger was empty when they disembarked. Everything had changed between them and she could still feel Han's kiss on her mouth. He clutched her elbow as they entered a long airy hallway. The hall was made more spacious by dozens of viewing portals along one side, and thick black and gold carpeting made up of repeating geometric motifs that made the floors look as though they stretched on for over a hundred meters. Thin strips of gold that tapered off into arrows and pointed towards at least three other passageways and five closed doors.

"This way," Han proclaimed with a grin, opening the door to a supply closet. "Oh wait.” He scratched his head. "I could have sworn that was the turbolift."

"Are you sure this is your ship?" she asked.

"Kind of," he said. The next hatchway opened to a refresher.

Leia began laughing.

"Fine, you try the next door."

The next was a spacious and ornate stateroom, the central feature of which was a bed carved of black wood covered in brightly coloured bedding.

"This isn't the turbolift," she declared.

"Nope." Eyes alit, Han Solo crossed his arms and propped himself up in the hatchway. "Oops."

"Indeed." She'd been tingling with anticipation since they stepped onboard.

They kissed until she was breathless. He flattened one hand against the center of her back; the other slowly moved over her breasts, cupping them in turn. "I wanted to do this the night I met you," he murmured, walking her backwards toward the bed.

"In your suites above the Manarai?" she whispered. She tugged his shirt free from the waist of his trousers and slid her hand up over the smooth skin along his lower back. She could tell he had the body of a natural athlete, lean and muscled. With her other hand, she ran her fingers through the soft hair behind his ear.

He stooped and brush-kissed her collarbone. "With the red dress."

"I'll wear it next time."

"You will?"

"Maybe."

Leia took a deep breath and pulled the bodysuit down to her waist, peeling the sleeves over her wrists and hands one-by-one. She felt brave, she felt invincible, right up until the back of her knees hit the mattress and she discovered that her confidence had never actually exited hyperspace. The truth was she played a very convincing game, but she had only had two lovers in her young life. And one of them had been killed for his involvement with her. She knew that, even if she didn't know who and why. If Luke discovered her recent extracurricular activities, all the likely outcomes were equally unpleasant.

With a violent shiver, she folded her arms tightly over her breasts, feeling chilled to the core.

Han saw her hesitate and collapsed gracefully atop the bed's coverlet. "Listen, we don't have to do anything," he said, and if he spoke with extreme reluctance, his face hid it impeccably. "There's a shower with an ice cold setting right over there." He grinned a little wildly and leaned up on one elbow. "It's big enough for four."

Leia laughed and tension melted away. "Four?"

"My partner had it specially commissioned." He locked his eyes with hers and lowered his voice. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you," she said, flushing. "Why four?"

"I've always been afraid to ask."

"Afraid of what?"

"Nothing." Han raised an eyebrow and looked at her though she'd asked the basic purpose of a navicomputer. "It's an expression."

Of course, she'd known that. She struggled to come up with something coherent. "I'm cold," she finally managed awkwardly.

"Yeah?" He hopped up, stepped over to the wall panel beside the entrance and quickly reprogrammed the room's ambient temperature. Then he returned to the bed and swept back the coverlet and luxurious sheets. He sat down and placed his hands on her forearms, tugging lightly. "Get in bed," he said, using a low, rough tone that would have thawed a Renatasian nun to the core. "I'll warm you up."

All variables outside the stateroom ceased to matter, all the reasons what was about to happen should not happen. She leaned down and he swallowed her up, drawing her onto his stomach so that he could curl his arms around her and kiss her. A slow, sweet heat began to spread and she was soon half-feverish, excited by the feeling of bare skin pressed up against bare skin, and his hands, which seemed impossibly large and so warm that she could no longer fathom being cold with fear.

Eventually, his hands made their way from her breasts to the softest part of her belly, and then lower into her bodysuit, stretching the fabric away from her skin. After innumerable light touches, his fingers pressed inside her all she could do was make small wounded animal sounds at the back of her throat, rest her cheek on his shoulder and clutch desperately at him. He curled his fingers skillfully upward, moving them, and her stomach, heart and lungs bottomed out to that secret, nowhere place that hovered between almost and there.

In the end it felt indescribably good to let go.

Men were men, she remembered vaguely in the part of her brain that was still coherent a few minutes later. It wouldn't take much.

She stretched her neck and kissed the side of his chin, all hard angles and stubble, the plane of his throat where his pulse was leaping against his skin, and then his mouth. His body vibrated with tension beneath her. She had not touched him yet, and now she squirmed so that she could push her hand inside his trousers, through his pubic hair to the raised iron-hard flesh.

"What would you like?" she asked.

"What would I like?" Han repeated incredulously.

In an instant, she was on her back. There was some fumbling and laboured breathing, and then his pants and her bodysuit were off, tossed carelessly to the floor. There was no coming up for air as he spread her thighs apart, only the piercing feel of penetration that left her breathless and euphoric. It was hard not to strain against him so early on. He nuzzled her throat, moving slowly. "I want this to feel good."

"It does," she assured him. He moved again and she wanted to cry out and moan and she made a sound somewhere in between. She dug her fingers into the hard bones of his hips and taut muscles of his lower abdomen, shifting her legs above his hipbones. "Please, yes," she whispered. Then she closed her eyes, retreating to the warm, fetal darkness, where raw sounds and sensations were the only language she could understand.

 

***

"Are you hungry?" Han still had a leg casually draped over her. He traced little circles along her hip and upper thigh with his index finger. She could feel his heart beating steadily against her ribs.

"Yes." Insatiably hungry, now that subject of food had come up. She opened her eyes and rolled her neck until she located a built-in console beside the doorway, wondering how long it would be before her absence was noted down on Coruscant. Everything was fuzzy, and then the outlines of the console sharpened, like a holo coming into focus. "Won't we be late?"

"No. My partner had those high-tech ovens installed in the galley – the kind that keep food warm but prevent it from cooking."

"Stasis warmers." The chefs at the Manarai used them for large parties.

"Yes, those."

Han rolled onto his back and she felt abruptly alone. She had been enjoying the physical closeness, intoxicated by the dreamy, post-coital mood. She squeezed her thighs together and shivered as the now empty space inside her throbbed one last time.

As he climbed over her to get out of bed, she was distracted by a long angry, scar that curled over his right hip and trailed all the way down to the outside of his thigh. She reached out and stroked a fingertip over the ridged flesh before he was out of her grasp. It had not received medical attention at the time and the skin had healed with an angry ridge of scar tissue. "What happened?"

"Hm?" he said, as though she could have been referring to one of one hundred scars. And there were more decorating his body, but none were as prominent, colourful and ugly. "Oh that? It was a long time ago."

"It looks like it was painful."

"It was."

The Emperor had not permitted her to have the scars removed from her wrist and forearm. If she was not wearing long sleeves, usually she wore a concealer. They were faintly visible today, but if Han had noticed, he had politely chosen not to ask. It was obvious he wasn't interested in talking about his scars either.

She swung her legs over the bed. She felt sticky and mildly shaky all over, and tilted her head toward the bedside luma, blinking hard as prisms formed from staring directly into the light.

Han opened a closet, inside of which hung half a dozen silk robes in as many colours. He caught her baffled expression as he handed her a navy blue robe and said, "It's part of his master schmoozing routine. He likes his guests to feel comfortable."

She eyed the unmade bed worriedly. "Should we leave the room… like this?"

"My people don't talk."

He laid his regular clothes on the bed and she followed suit. The robe swam over her wrists and ankles. She let him lead her through a series of hallways to a small turbolift. She'd never been on a pleasure cruiser before although the Emperor owned several, and never imagined that her first time she would be padding around in a robe and bare feet.

When the turbolift doors opened to the observation deck, the aroma of roast gorak enveloped her. The deck was three times the size of her apartment. Located atop the cruiser, it offered a panoramic view of the stars beyond Coruscant. There was a lounging area, with several leather couches stationed around a low dining table, which was set for two.

On the way to the table, Han segued her toward the bar. "Do you really prefer ale or were you playing hard to get the night we met?"

"I prefer wine," she confessed.

"Did you lie about anything else?"

"Not that I recall at this moment." She gave him a tentative smile. "I'll let you know if something comes back to me."

Han chuckled as his comlink rang. "Pick something out, will you," he said.

She crouched and perused the contents of the wine-fridge, then selected a fine bottle of Sullustan wine. She set it on the counter and set about cracking the seal. Han casually set his hand on her backside and rubbed it, saying, "Yes. Yes. I told you that already. Uh huh. Fine."

Slowly, she poured wine into each glass, three fingers below the rim. She liked the way his hand felt over the silk, the way the fabric undulated against the back of her calves like tepid water. She wanted to close her eyes, lean back and sip her wine, pretend that he was her right, and she was his, even though falling for him was not part of the plan. She was sorry when the call ended.

"Pardon. Business."

She turned and handed him a glass. "It must never end for you."

"It doesn't." He set his hands on her waist, pushing back into the counter. "How do you feel now?"

"Good," she began to say, but his comlink rang again. He threw it in the small trash compactor beside the bar and hit the switch. It emitted several chirrups and died with a satisfying squeak-crunch. "That should take care of that."

"Was that wise?"

Han steered her to the dining table. He sat down and began serving slices of gorak meat and malla petals. "Is this?"

"I don't know," she said, remembering the way he'd kissed her at the end, possessively and desperately. Usually, she sought to separate herself from Luke; they didn't make love anymore and she hated to let him kiss her when she came.

Everything about Han Solo was different.

The slitherhorn player had described him as a man addicted to his work, but the more time she spent with him, the more she realized the rumours were true only on the surface. Perhaps he was a womanizer (and enough women on Coruscant would attest to that), but he hadn't made a pass at her or propositioned her since the night they'd met at the Manarai. He was ridiculously wealthy, but he appeared indifferent to the trappings of his status. "Do you miss it?''

"Miss what?" He held the spoon over a miniature earthenware pot. "Sauce?"

"Yes. I mean your old life. Smuggling? Flying?"

He passed her a plate. "There are pros and cons to both. Or were. I spent years with my ass on the line and nearly got myself killed on a regular basis. The credits came and went, depending on the jobs I worked. Now, the risks I take are strictly of the financial sort. People underestimate how much like the business world smuggling is – it is part of the business world. The greater the risk, the greater the return. Some of my current associates are slimier than my old smuggling contacts, and I knew a lot of… slimy ones."

"So, currently you sell arms legally, and in your previous life you smuggled them, illegally."

"I prefer to think of my current business in terms of defense. We have clients with very special and particular needs."

"Do you consider me a client?"

"I'd call you a hobby." He grinned. "Most women want only one thing."

"To sleep with you?"

"That and my penthouse." He stabbed at a piece of gorak meat. "But my ex got it in the settlement."

Leia took a bite. The gamey meat, covered in a tangy berry sauce, dissolved like butter on her tongue. "This is delicious," she said.

"The chef I hired used to work at Nova Nova."

Leia regarded him blankly.

"It's the best restaurant on Corellia," he boasted. "In Coronet City."

"I'll remember that if I ever make it there."

Leia thought about Roganda. Roganda's ambitions had been simple; she'd wanted a position within the Imperial Palace, would have done anything to gain power, to gain material things, to gain status, even parade herself naked. Palpatine had chosen her alone that night, perhaps charmed by her audacity. She'd always assumed that they were fundamentally different, but she wasn't so sure anymore.

Toward the end of the meal, she said, "I have a small request."

"On top of everything else?" Han asked.

"The next time you're doing business at the Manarai, it would be best if we acted like we don't know one another. They watch me there."

"They?"

"You understand?"

He let his hand fall beneath the table and squeezed her knee reassuringly. "Sweetheart, whatever it is you're running away from… whoever it is, everybody has a past."

"I don't have a past." She took another large bite of gorak meat and chewed, staring through the transparisteel at the galaxy beyond, wishing she could throw herself into it and be lost forever. Then she swallowed and said, "I have a present."


	7. Chapter 7

"In a restaurant," Han declared a few weeks later. "All dressed up."

"We've had real dinners."

"Not the same."

"The one on the yacht starship." She smiled and dangled a leg over the armrest, tweaking her restless foot from left to right. She wore a nondescript, black flightsuit which would have hung shapelessly about her save for the narrow belt cinched about her waist. "Although I don't know if the one you burned here in the galley counts as it was inedible."

"We could hop from one side of Coruscant to the other. I know a great little place-"

"You're too recognizable." She tossed her head. "We'd wind up on the cover of the Coruscanti Daily."

"No, we wouldn't."

Last month there was a photo of you turbo-skiing at the south ice cap." Leia made a face. "By the way, who was the redhead?"

"An old friend." Han put up his hands in mock surrender. "Can you get away for a full night?"

"No."

"Ten hours."

"Six and you owe me."

"Owe you what?" he asked.

"You haven't been teaching me how to do any maintenance work. How to do system checks, reboots, scans and general repairs."

"I have people for that."

She rolled her eyes elaborately. "You have people for everything. I need to learn how."

"You're really gonna buy a ship and take off?"

"Yes."

He didn't say anything back. Her temerity still impressed the hell out of him.

She misinterpreted the look on his face for skepticism. "I have the money."

"Sure you do, Sweetheart."

Her dark eyes flashed with self-righteous anger. Han thought she looked beautiful. 

"At the University of Coruscant, I was involved with another student," she explained, tapping her fingers in an irritated fashion on the edge of her console. "We were going to run away together. We opened an account with fake identification and set it up with an intergalactic credit account so that we could withdraw funds anywhere in the galaxy." She pursed her lips. "His family was rich. We put aside enough to last us at least a year."

Han had to ask. "What happened?"

She let out a lungful of air as though she'd been holding it in for days. "He was killed in an accident the week before we were set to depart." 

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." She shifted, drew her leg over the armrest and straightened her spine. "The credits are still there. I'm going to use them to buy a ship. You can't teach me how to fly and not how to repair a ship. Besides..." She twitched the frown from her lips. "The sex is free. For an offworld dinner, you've got to improve your end of the bargain."

His laughter filled every corner of the cockpit. "Fine." He fixed her with an intense smile. "Next time we meet, be prepared to get your hands dirty."

"As it so happens," she began, slipping from her seat and sliding her legs on either side of his so that she straddled his knees. She used the voice she used when they were in the cluttered captain's cabin at the rear of the ship, the one that called to mind the feel of her hair between his legs and the slick, soft feel of her mouth. 

Han disengaged the chair's armrests and flipped them down, out of the way. Then he caught her by the waist and yanked her forward so that she was trapped astride him with her legs dangling. "As it so happens, what?" he prompted breathlessly. 

"I love to get dressed up."

 

***

The Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris was a sturdy little ship and her systems had been updated prior to her purchase. The previous owner hadn't taken her for more than ten hyperspace jumps; other than a few minor hull scratches and dated interior appliances, she was in mint condition. It took Han well over an hour to find anything remotely mendable, mainly because of a heated excursion into the crew cabin, the initial purpose of which had been to discover if she was wearing anything under her flight suit (she wasn't). 

After that, he'd briefly entertained blasting the hydraulics or some other secondary system so that they could patch it up. Between smuggling runs (and often mid-run), something had needed fixing on the Falcon. She'd been ornery that way. Chewbacca used to growl that she resembled Han personality-wise, that all the modifications and upgrades and jury-rigging had made her as cantankerous as her owner. It had been true enough, except that Han didn't have a hyperdrive for a heart and fluidics for veins.

He made a mock-up of an inner hull breach and taught Leia how to locate it and seal it. It took her three tries. It wasn't her fault - without the force of a vacuum sucking air outside the ship, the hull-patch wouldn't stick was the way it was intended.

"Wasn't it kind of funny," he asked, "you being in basic piloting and never flying?"

She brushed the back of a greasy hand against her forehead. It left a long dark streak. "Funny to whom?"

"Not that kind of funny. There are a lot of seasoned pilots who wouldn't know the stuff you did about rebalancing the motivator. They don't know anything about hyperdrive generators."

"I studied." She stooped to pick up the access panel cover, her face averted. 

"And you never registered for a single class."

"I sat in. I bought the data-packs."

"Is that what it's like, being a ward of the Emperor, not being able to do the things you want?" It was a yes or no question. Han figured she couldn't dodge it.

She finished attaching the last clamp. "At times."

"Eventually, don't you get too old to be a ward?"

"At the start of every year, I wake up and hope so." She handed him the multi-tool. "Then I test it. I try to leave Coruscant under my own name. Sirens go off when I hit customs. Shortly after that an Imperial Security detail arrives."

He almost believed her but she was grinning to herself. He couldn't think of a way to ask without sounding insulting, so he blurted out, "What's so special about you?"

She looked at him in mock surprise. "You don't think I'm special?"

"You're impossible, you know that."

"Stubborn," she corrected.

"Right. In thirty languages. How could I forget? Okay, you… have you ever used a fusion-welder before?"

The final lesson was already set up in the starboard passageway. Han handed her a pair of yellow-shaded goggles. "Put these on." He donned a pair himself. "Ever done any welding at all?"

She shook her head.

"Never take your goggles off. If they fall and you lose 'em, close your eyes and let go of the trigger, otherwise you'll damage your corneas." He had the fusion welder in his hand but the safety was on. He tapped the two couplings with the tip of the welder. "You can use a softer filler metal if you need it. Always keep scraps on hand, pre-cut. If you can get the couplings butted up against each other like this, they'll take to one another. You need to make sure they're straight though… Hold it, find the safety and unlock it." He ran the laser beam steadily over the seam between the two couplings for three seconds. It merged into one. "That's it. And you're golden. He stood behind her, stretched his arms on either side, and pressed the welder into her hand. "Now your turn."

"Like this?" She rested her elbow atop his.

"Yeah, just like that."

He had her weld three couplings together in a row, one with filler metal, two without. She jumped the first time the beam cracked to life, but after than she was calm. She was meticulous, slightly anal-retentive even, measuring and leveling everything twice. By the last coupling, she was leaning against him as though the fusion-welder had a kickback to it, which it didn't.

"Nice job," he said.

"I can handle this." She admired her handiwork for a moment. Then she said, "I grew up in a private school for children from the Imperial Court. He came to see me once or twice a year." She talked fast, as though she'd been storing the sentences up for hours. "It was always the worst day of my life. And for the record, I do know why, but it's better if you don't."

Han had seen the Emperor in holos thousands of times, and in person only once, at the opening of the Imperial Symphony Orchestra, back when he and Bryn were first married. Frail and feeble-looking, Palpatine had been surrounded by a crimson sea of the fearsome Royal Imperial Guard, as though he feared assassins waited around every staircase. He couldn't imagine what that ravaged face would have appeared like to a child. His arms tightened. "What about now?"

"He checks in. Security at my building monitors my comings and goings. Someone at the Manarai keeps him abreast of my schedule. If he ever says 'jump', I'll have no choice but to ask 'how high?' That's why I need to leave as soon as I'm able."

The undercurrent in her voice was telling him not to get attached but he wasn't listening. He ran his fingers over the welded seam. "How soon?"

"Two months, if I can manage it."

Standing behind her then, two months felt like a lifetime. On impulse, he closed his mouth over the spot where her bodysuit and bare skin met. He used his teeth and swirled his tongue as if she was an edible, a delicacy like namana nectar.

"Hey." She murmured a sustained complaint. "Don't leave a mark."

He shoved his goggles on top of his head. "Who will see?"

She tilted her neck back and smiled at him, face half-tinted by the yellow goggles. "Everyone at dinner."

***

The dress was green like an arboreal forest at midday, with clumps of tilted sunlight spattered through the treetops. It fell off one shoulder and was slightly sheer; she wore a bodyglove beneath it that didn't quite reach her shoulders or her knees.

Han flew her to Utrost, a cosmopolitan planet only a few light-years from Coruscant. It was afternoon in the ocean-side city of Ovi Frihet. The restaurant was terraced, set on the cliffs overlooking Utrost's Great Ocean and salt air breezes tapered toward the shore. Technically, it was lunchtime, but they called it dinner and the waiter played along. Afterward, he had planned to take her to see the polished stone tunnels that had been built into the cliffs a thousand years ago, but she felt woozy from the heat and asked to return to the ship. 

By the time they arrived back at the spaceport on Utrost, her skin had taken on the greenish pallor of a Falleen. She spent the flight back to Coruscant locked in the refresher or doubled over on the crash couch in the main hold, simultaneously shivering and sweating and looking miserable. Food poisoning, they decided. Han had had the teratta, seasoned terk hide strips in oil and groat milk; she'd had the Chadra starfish in membrosia sauce. Definitely the seafood. Unfortunately, he had nothing on board the Spirit but a skeleton medpac, no antitoxins, nothing for nausea.

"Where do you live?" he asked. "Does your building have a landing pad?"

"Yes, but-"

"You can't take a public shuttle like this." The absurdity of the situation forced him to decide and whatever resolve she possessed had been taxed by illness. "I'll fly you in my airspeeder."

Subsector J55-04, Level 73, was on the fringes of the Palace District. She lived in a monolithic skytower that featured thousands of identical units. An L-shaped lounging area and small kitchen comprised the main living areas. There were two doorways; one doorway led to an empty room with a training mat arranged on the carpet and the second led to a bedroom. The apartment, although standardized and generic, had been livened up with warm colours, comfortable conform furniture and packed data-cases. An expensive floater globe hovered over the dining table; inside it, coloured gases swirled in imitation of the Rainbow Nebulae. Other art pieces strategically decorated the walls and a few holocubes were displayed on data-case shelves and side tables. They revealed past nights at the Manarai, Leia with the band and staff. There was a holo of two toddlers arm in arm, sitting beneath a cyperill tree in one of Coruscant's Botanical Gardens.

Her apartment contained far more than an illusion of a life, Han decided. Far more than an illusion.

He helped her into the bedroom. She asked for bedclothes from her dresser and then she asked him to hang up her green dress. She stretched out on her bed while he commed a nearby medical centre and ordered anti-nausea and anti-toxin drops. Then he commed his assistant at Calrissian-Solo Munitions Inc. and cancelled his evening meeting. 

"I'm so sorry," she kept saying. 

"For what?" 

"You don't have to stay," she insisted. "I mean it. You don't."

"I chose the restaurant." Han had rearranged the pillows so that he could lean against the headboard. The décor and furniture inside her bedroom was darker than the rest of her apartment, the walls painted a somber shade of crimson. Stacked datadiscs and data-readers cluttered the nightstand. "I feel like this is my fault." 

"Oh, but it was beautiful there. I felt like I was fully awake for the first time in years."

He slid his fingers above the crease of her wrist and pressed down between the bones of her forearm. The veins in her wrist rose to the surface like blue-black spider webs. "If you thought Utrost was beautiful, wait until you're out there." 

"I look forward to it." She pushed strands of hair away from her forehead with her free hand and tucked them behind her hear. "My brother may be stopping by later. It would truly be best if you weren't here."

"You have a brother?" That surprised him. He'd figured her for an orphan since learning she was a ward of the state. "Older or younger?"

"A twin. He's very overprotective."

"I'll take my chances. Frankly…" He lowered his voice a notch. "Let's say I've run across more than one overprotective brother in my time."

She reached over and squeezed his upper arm. "He works for the Emperor. He's dangerous. Please, believe me." 

"Are you leaving him too?"

"Yes." 

Han wasn't sure why he was still there. He ran his finger along her forehead, wondering if she was a restless or sound sleeper, slept on her stomach or her side. Did she like sex in the middle of the night or did she sleep curled up in a ball, limbs in, closed-off like, legs yanked together tight so no one could touch? Did she sleep with her hair down or tied up so it wasn't pinned beneath her shoulders? He had a lover like that once, who shoved her long hair over her head. It used to sprawl on his pillow and smother him. "This is one hell of a plan you have."

"It will work." Even sick and drowsy from medication, the grit and the determination were there. Suddenly, she sat up, her eyes panicked. "Han, get to the door." 

"Why?"

"Just do it. Now."

 

***

 

It was an uncomfortable conversation, to say the least. Han had made it to the door in time, and she had made it to her kitchen table. To an outsider, the Corellian had been on his way out. 

Luke stepped softly inside and Han nodded at him in greeting.  
"Hello, I'm Han Solo."

"I know who you are."

"You must be-" 

"Luke."

Silence. Luke's eyes settled directly on her face, as though he was searching deep inside her. Not a muscle on his face moved. She knew he was assessing the situation and deciding what to do. 

"Uh… Your sister has food poisoning." Han appeared as though the awkwardness of the moment were wearing on him, although he was good at hiding it. "I brought her home from dinner. She was too ill for the shuttle." 

Another silence. She pressed her palms against her thighs beneath the table. "Thank you Captain Solo," she said. "I appreciate it." 

"Yes," her brother agreed. "Thank you."

"And I'll be going now." Han turned back to her. "I hope you feel better." 

There main entrance swished open and shut and she willed herself to be a void, feel and reveal nothing. They were lucky. Stupid. And blessedly lucky. Luke's visits tended to be haphazard, twice a week at most - she hadn't even been certain he would come tonight - but still, she shouldn't have been so reckless. She knew better.

Luke stormed across the suite like a krayt dragon whose territory had been overrun. "Who is he?"

Leia feigned confusion and rubbed her eyes. "Han Solo? He's an acquaintance from the restaurant. His company will be holding a benefit on their pleasure cruiser later this year. They'd like to hire the band for an evening. He invited me to dinner to discuss the finer details." She shrugged her shoulders. "Then this happened. He brought me home."

"An acquaintance," Luke repeated, pacing around her apartment, fingertips studiously grazing the walls and furniture. He stopped at the table. She could tell he was sorting through his memories of the Manarai. 

"I suspect his intentions are more," Leia admitted, because every lie needed a kernel of truth in order to be perceived as believable. She sensed the pressure against her mind and concentrated on shielding her innermost thoughts. "You were rude. He was only being kind. I was too ill to take a shuttle alone."

There was a long, terrible moment where he debated pursuing the line of questioning. Finally, he relented, moving swiftly to her side. He placed his hands on either side of her face and forced her to look up at him. "You look terrible. Shall I comm for a medic from the palace?"

"No." She closed her eyes to block out the overhead lighting. Her head still throbbed and her entire body ached from vomiting as though she'd singularly strained every muscle from the back of her neck to her ankles. "All I want to do is sleep."

"Go," he said. 

She returned to her bedroom and stretched out on the bed. She wondered what Han was thinking now. 

A moment later, feet padded back into the room and snapped her from the daydream. Then came the clink of glass on the wooden surface of her nightstand. "I brought you sweetwater," he said. "So what did he say?"

His voice had changed. He could do that so easily; go from sounding like someone's worst enemy to their confidante within the span of a several seconds. "About what?" 

"The benefit? When is it?"

"It's not until Fete Week. We didn't finish. It was something I ate in a hors d'oeuvre."

He laid a cool hand on her shoulder. "You're very warm all over. I should comm the palace. The Emperor will want to know if you're not well." 

"It's only food poisoning," she mumbled. Coruscant's sun was distant for an inhabited world. Orbital mirrors reflected the sun's rays toward the surface to make the climate more agreeable. On Utrost, the sun had been high and brilliant. Her pale skin wasn't used to it. 

"He's been asking about you."

It was the prelude to the type of intricate conversation she dreaded when she felt healthy. "What does he want?"

"He inquires as to your happiness."

"And what do you tell him?"

"That you're content." The weight of Luke's bent knee tipped the mattress. "I should warn you, he grows weary of allowing this fling with a commoner's life you seem hell-bent on experiencing."

"It's not a fling."

"If you were to accept his offer and live at the palace, you would want for nothing. You'd have luxurious quarters within the Imperial Palace, gowns of Lashaa and Ottegan silk, jewels, servants to cater to your every whim."

"My answer will never change." She rolled over. "You swore you would never permit it."

"It wouldn't be that way. I would never allow him to touch you. There are people who work for him, who are specially trained to use their skills. He seems to think…" His jaw set. 

"What?" she asked. 

"He seems to think that you'll betray me."

Betray. If only she understood what betray meant to her brother. Linguistics said all language originated in a shout of pain, a cry of joy, an exclamation of love. They said most words were related to the senses. But what was betray, especially to a man who was hardened and impenitent, a man who inured himself to emotion.

"How does he foresee this? Do you meditate? What do you see?"

"You think I can't sense it in you," Luke replied, anger rising pure and unrestrained. "Something is building. Perhaps I've kept your secret for too long."

She struggled to sit up and was almost overcome by a hot flash of nausea. The bedroom pitched and shifted. "You believe him rather than your own flesh and blood? He's lied to you before, hasn't he? Right now, he has you convinced that you're indebted to him. That's he's permitting you me – and this debt of gratitude you feel is nothing but a way to manipulate you-"

"You pretend that your skills are so inferior to mine that you wouldn't know how to use them."

"I haven't the training, Luke."

"Except for what I've taught you."

She pressed the balls of her feet into the carpet. "It's been a lifetime since you taught me anything."

"I know you practice more than you admit. Often, on the way here, I can sense it, the Force shifting near you, around you."

"I not a Jedi. I never will be."

"There are no Jedi. The Jedi are extinct."

She stumbled into the fresher, turned on the tap and lowered her face to the sink. She fought the urge to empty her stomach again. The cold water revived her. Luke followed, watching her from the doorway. 

"What are you then?" she asked, looking up to peer at his expressionless reflection in the mirror. If he pitied her, she couldn't see it in his eyes. "If you're not a Jedi, are you a Sith?

"I am neither." He shrugged casually, his anger subsiding as quickly as it had come. He stepped up behind her and gathered her hair with one hand. With the other, he traced a circle through the back of her bedclothes as though to soothe her. "The Jedi were foolish," he continued. "There is no light and there is no darkness. The Force is merely a power, a power that only the gifted among us can touch."

She shifted so that her elbows rested on the counter and watched the water flow over her wrists. On Utrost, waves generated from the ocean tides had converged with waves reflected from the shore and the peaks seemed to stand still on the surface. Throughout the meal, they'd mesmerized her. "That's what he's taught you."

"They didn't understand the nature of the Force, Leia. Our father did. When the Jedi Council requested that Anakin spy on Palpatine and become a traitor to the government that the Jedi had sworn to support, he refused. When the Jedi came to kill Palpatine, he died saving his life."

Saved indeed, Leia thought bitterly. And for what? A dictatorship? "Perhaps it was our father who was mistaken."

"Be careful of your words."

"You can sense how I feel. Why would I bother to be careful of my words? Even if I don't say it aloud, I feel it and you know."

"Words of warning, nothing more. You'll have to face him yourself. You're to have dinner with him."

"No."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, as though amused by the vehemence of her refusal. "It's an order from him."

It took all of her strength to stand. "Are you on duty that night?" 

"Yes."

He helped her back to the bed and pulled the covers partway up. She felt physically winded as though she'd sprinted up a flight of stairs, emotionally helpless and drained. Luke was changing. Palpatine had been cultivating his desire for power, nurturing it and coaxing it like a wilting flower planted in sandy soil. It wasn't in Luke's nature by birth, but his nature was nearly gone. Eventually, he would want more power and bargain her away.

This was what she foresaw.

He stood above the bed looking down at her, quizzically. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead with such tenderness that her heart ached. This had been Luke once, only a few years ago. "I know you wouldn't betray me, truly. You were mine before you were even born. But you need to pretend, for your own sake."

"I can pretend," she whispered. The defeat in her voice wasn't an act.

He began to stroke her back. "Yes, I know you can."

His hair tickled her cheek and neck. She felt his lips graze curve beneath her collarbone where Han had kissed earlier, and then, she felt the blood vessels breaking and an undercurrent of panic rising, both outside of her and within her. And then he stood and stepped away from the bed as though nothing had happened.

As though he didn't know.

"There is a gift waiting for you in the kitchen," he announced coolly. "Roganda says it will match the dress she purchased for you."


	8. Chapter 8

The palm sized data-discs landed on his desk with a snap. "She's twenty-three," Lando began. "She studied theatre at the University of Coruscant and has been working at the Manarai for almost two years. She was raised on one of Palpatine's estates for children of the Imperial Court and gifted children. By 'gifted', all indications are that her father was a member of the Jedi Council, a man from Tatooine called Anakin Skywalker."

"Interesting," Han declared, closing down his console and swiveling his chair around. His mind swam with images of twins suns, sand, Jabba the Hutt and more blowing sand. "Coruscant is a hell of a long way from Tatooine."

"Skywalker was a known associate of Palpatine's. He had ties to Naboo." Lando gave a short laugh. "They say when he was a child, he destroyed a Federation Control Ship at the Battle of Naboo. He was commended by the Queen. He would have been better off staying in the Outer Rim. He vanished during the Clone Wars along with the rest of the Jedi."

"Yet his two children survived."

Lando shrugged. "Maybe the Emperor is secretly sentimental."

"And her mother?"

"Shen turned up nothing conclusive. The Jedi didn't marry. They weren't supposed to marry. They weren't supposed to become attached to anyone." Lando shrugged again. "Maybe their mother was a friend of Palpatine's. Maybe she was close to the Queen – she later became a senator and regularly travelled with an entire retinue of female bodyguards." 

"If her father was a Jedi, then she…" Han wondered aloud. 

"Might be a Force-sensitive. Or the brother. If the rumours are true and the Force can be passed down from parent to child." Lando removed his Veda cloth cape and settled into the plush leather chair on the opposite side of Han's desk. "Luke Skywalker is a member of the Emperor's Royal Guard. He serves as a Sovereign Protector and a Special Interrogator. His gets his hands very dirty on a regular basis and doesn't give a damn."

"That explains a lot." Han was not soft. He trained religiously and he could still draw a blaster faster than nashtah could spring and sink its jaws into a man's throat. But old-fighting instincts had told him he would not walk away easily from an encounter with Luke Skywalker.

"Explains what?" Lando folded his arms and regarded him with barely restrained curiosity. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"

"That's none of your business."

Lando unfolded his arms, casually reached over and picked up a stylus made of exquisitely carved black oxite. "Here's an anecdote you may appreciate. A few months ago, some Kalzerian who'd had too much to drink made a grab or copped a feel. I'm sure it's an occupational hazard at the Manarai. Unfortunately for the Kalzerian, her brother was in the audience when it happened. Bystanders say he politely asked him to step outside, he politely asked him to extend his hand. Then he cut it off with a vibroblade."

Han flinched inwardly. He'd used more than a hand to touch her. That's right Han, he thought. Turn paranoid. "Maybe that was an isolated incident."

"Normal, well-adjusted individuals don't work for the Emperor. At least not voluntarily."

"Are these the highlights?"

"The entire file is highlights. Most of her medical files were classified and encrypted, except for a visit to a numbered clinic in Sector 4892 earlier this year." Lando twirled the stylus between his thumb and forefinger. "They specialize in pregnancy termination."

Han managed to keep his expression blank, even as indignation on her behalf welled within him. The background check had been his idea; he hadn't expected it to be so thorough. "Did Shen turn up anything under the name Lusa Durasha?"

"Durasha was the family name of a governess at the estate. There are no bank accounts, onworld or off under Lusa Durasha or Leia Skywalker. Her brother, on the other hand, has a number of accounts and he owns the unit where she lives." 

Han felt strangely relieved to hear that. It had hit him after he left that she couldn't possibly afford to live in the Palace District on an entertainer's salary. 

There was more though and beating around the bush wasn't Lando's style. "You want to hear about her connection to the Praji's?"

"The Praji's?" Han asked in genuine surprise. "The ones who own the Bank of the Core."

"One and the same."

Han made a futile swipe for the stylus. "Stop playing with that thing and spill it out." 

Lando finally set the stylus down. "She was involved with their eldest son, Iolu. He was a student in the intensive pilot training program at Coruscant University when she studied theatre. He mysteriously ended up in an Undercity gutter fifty levels below with his heart cut out three years ago. And the only reason Shen found any of that out is because his family didn't believe the investigation results released by the Coruscant Security Force. They also wanted to track down some priceless family jewelry that disappeared. They hired a private investigator from Shen's old firm." Lando frowned skeptically. "Robbery gone wrong or staged execution… Han, if she's your latest mistress-"

"She's not my mistress," Han countered, digging around the clutter on his desk for the flimsy with the brief on Curovao ImpEx. He willed his facial muscles to relax. Maybe the missing jewelry had been intended to fund her and Iolu's escape from Coruscant. Maybe she still had it. "I'm giving her flying lessons, that's it." Han raised his eyebrows. "Your last words were to put my charming side to practice."

"I didn't think you stood a chance."

"I'm better looking than you are," Han answered without missing a beat, finally locating the flimsy. "Now what's the issue with Curovao ImpEx?"

Lando put his fists together and pretended to strangle an invisible neck. "Our damned prototype misfired yesterday and we've bumped the deadline up again. I couldn't reach you last night."

"Oh." The prototype had been a chronic headache for the past month. They'd commissioned a company to add their small-scale, detachable weapons to their series of bodyguard droids, but the first batch had needed its programming tweaked; apparently, so did the second batch. Han rubbed the freshly grown stubble on his chin. He knew Lando was privately irritated with his attention span of late, and too good-natured to lambaste him for it. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

"I know you will." Lando stood up and smoothed the corners of his moustache. "All I'm saying is don't get in too deep, whatever you're up to. We've invested everything in this business, Han. I hate the Empire as much as you do but they're our top client. We don't need trouble. Most of your women tend to be temporary pursuits. If she's disposable, end it sooner rather than later. That's all I ask."

Han shook his head, but he knew Calrissian's concern was genuine. "She's not trouble," he insisted, but he didn't know if he believed it. "And she's not disposable."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that." His business partner sighed and held his hand over the palm-pad. "Sometimes I wish Chewbacca was still around to keep an eye on you. 

"You would complain that he shed all over the office floors." Han stood and reached for his formal jacket. "Are we budging on our bid to make up for the delay?

"Not if we can help it."

"Then is my collar straight?"


	9. Chapter 9

Iolu Praji had been the eldest son of one of Coruscant's most prominent families, born to a family nearly as ancient as the planet-wide city itself. With old money poured vast and deep into the city's financial district, a career wasn't a necessity but an education, or 'professional hobby' as his father called it, was. Iolu had wanted to be a flatsculpt architect, but that hadn't been deemed 'professional' enough for his parents, so he'd defiantly enrolled in the pilot's program at Coruscant University. It was there that Leia had met him, sitting in the back row of the white-domed lecture hall.

Leia remembered that Iolu's nose was long and aquiline and his forehead prominent and wide, his hair longish without seeming overly long or unruly. Those features she remembered with an uncanny precision, but in moments of reflection, she couldn't recall the exact shade of blue of his eyes. His demeanor had been quiet and shy, but he'd been an intellectual and an idealist, and not only in spirit. He'd been willing to work with his bare hands and dreamed of travelling the galaxy and working on refugee worlds with dislocated species, especially those rendered homeless by the resource pillaging practiced by the Empire. Leia had never been sure if she'd fallen in love with his idealism or his tenderness first, only that he'd brought vivid colour to her life, a life dissolving into shades of grey.

Three years later, despite Luke's claims to the contrary, she was also certain that his death had somehow been her fault, but she had given up believing that her brother would ever tell her the truth.

The throne room of the Imperial Palace held a massive circular window with transparisteel panes shaped like the rays of the sun that fanned outward in all directions. Coruscant was a planetary ecumenopolis; skylanes cut across the crevasse-like streets in every direction, every which way. Palpatine could gaze down upon the Palace District and even the greatest of the planet's skyscrapers. On the night of the dinner, Palpatine stood by the window deep in thought when she arrived. 

"You're right on time, my dear. Come, come." One gnarled hand pointed to the polished floors. "Come stand beside me."

His voice was hoarse and gravely. To Leia, it had always sounded ancient. She went to stand beside him and he grasped her hand as though she were a child. The skin was dry and dead feeling and a shudder of revulsion washed through her so fiercely she couldn't hide it. 

He pretended not to notice. "I have a dilemma," he announced idly, as though he had been standing there for hours, attempting to reach a resolution.

"I'm not sure that I can help," she said trepidatiously. 

"You are aware that the Kel Dorians, who live in the lower levels, cannot breathe oxygen rich air?"

"Yes," she replied.

"We are having difficulties in several of the ethnic neighborhoods. Other species are complaining that the Kel Dorians are purposely removing filtration systems in order to dirty the air."

Leia nearly bit her lip. In all likelihood, this was a game - Palpatine was fond of games. Tentatively, she said, "Many species were driven together into the lower levels by your policies. They are all merely doing what they must to survive."

"Survive, yes, but unfortunately, their actions have inspired the Gands in a neighboring sector to do the same. Shall I infuse the area with oxygen rich air, sentencing many of the Kel Dorians to pain and suffering and certain death? Or shall I… negotiate?" He pronounced negotiate as though the notion of bargaining disgusted him. "Logically, if I deal with the Kel Dorians, I will be required to deal with the Gands as well. Both species will learn that by terrorizing their neighborhoods, they can bring about the changes they want." Palpatine clucked to himself. "No, I can't have that. If they die they will have brought it upon themselves." He turned around slowly, releasing her hand. "You're wearing my gift. Do you approve of it?"

Leia touched the necklace of Joralla pearls encircling her throat like a chain. "Yes," she forced herself to say. "These gems are far more precious a gift than I deserve."

"Your brother has indicated that you are not interested in a position here in my palace."

Leia skirted a glance toward the guards in flowing crimson robes. There were five when there should be six. Her brother wasn't among them.

"He's coming," Palpatine assured her, as if he knew her thoughts. "He's running an errand for me."

One of the servers brought her a glass. Leia struggled to speak, for they were standing face-to-face and she had always had a hard time looking directly at him. It wasn't merely the mask of physically repulsive features; it was the darkness. She could see it and she felt as though if she stared for too long, she would be lost, drawn into it forever. When she spoke, she felt like she was drowning, trying to speak underwater. "My brother speaks the truth."

The Emperor chuckled. "Has it ever occurred to you that there may be positions of great interest to you? Many have trained here and work for me in unofficial capacities. You…" He seemed to size her up. "You are best suited for something official. You think quickly on your feet. You can act and easily impress. You are persuasive. Perhaps you possess the patience to negotiate with the Kel Dorians." He sampled the wine in his goblet. "You would be a valuable ally within my government, far more like your mother than I ever imagined you would be."

Leia blinked. "My mother?" The morsel of information almost weakened her resolve to remain either indifferent or to hate him.

"Hasn't your brother told you? Yes, yes, you are so much like your mother. One of the finest women and finest politicians I have ever known." Palpatine folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes and began moving toward a double set of dark, heavy wooden doors on the other side of the throne room. "There is, of course, one significant difference between you two and that is your gift from your father."

"No." Leia shook her head, panic engulfing her. "I'm not like my father."

Palpatine didn't hear her, lost in a distant memory. "What was it your brother asked you that day after the accident in the dressing rooms…? Oh, yes… Were you like him? And what was it you said…" His mouth curved almost unnaturally, blackened teeth revealed. "Yes."

Leia felt cold and her mouth fell open. She meant to say something, but she couldn't, for he was grinning, and his grin made him appear as a monster from little children's nightmares, yellowy eyes glinting in the light from the rotunda window.

"My dear," he chuckled, "Nothing ever transpires that I do not permit, not even your brother's infatuation with you."

Leia endured the dinner the way she would an epidermal cleansing. Roganda made small talk and the other concubines, a human named Grael and a golden-skinned Firrerreon woman whose name was a mystery to all, barely uttered a word. The other guests were a pair of upper level government officials, sycophants who praised everything from the water to the embroidered napkins.

After dinner, Luke led her through the central maze of corridors to his suite. She had never seen his living accommodations inside the palace. It was a strange revelation to learn that he owned art and data-discs, things other than her that were important to him. She sat on the lounge by the window, which was actually a holographic screen that showed panoramic views of the ivory Mysses Blossoms in the outside gardens. "Our mother was a politician. You never told me."

"Didn't I?" Luke stared at her blankly.

Leia examined his face, but it was closed like a fist about to strike, fingers folded down, pointed knuckles facing out. "No. You never did."

"I have a holo." He flicked several buttons on the panel that controlled the holographic window, and the image of a woman replaced the gardens. Leia's breath caught slightly; she was larger than life, ten times her size. Arm raised, mouth open, she spoke to the crowds in the senate chamber. With her mouth twisted argumentatively, Leia couldn't tell if she was beautiful or not, but her eyes were instantly familiar; she saw them looking back at her every time she looked into a mirror. 

"If you like, I can have a copy made."

"No." Leia had resolved that she would take nothing with her when she left Coruscant. Not a dated holo of her mother, not fancy gowns, none of Palpatine's gifts. She would painstakingly erase all comm units and drop them in the garbage shoot, force herself to forget all comm numbers so that she would be able to rely on no one save herself. The temptation would be too great.

Besides, on the birthing table that would be her deathbed, her mother had asked Palpatine to look after her children. More than once during her twenty odd years, Leia had cursed her for that. Thoughts of pregnancy and childbirth reminded her of Roganda and of the fortuneteller's words. If she inhaled deeply enough she could almost smell her perfume in Luke's suites. "Did you know that Roganda is expecting?"

"Yes."

"Did Roganda tell you about the fortune-teller?" she asked. "What she said?"

"The bird-woman?" Luke nodded. "She was shaken up when she arrived back at the palace that day."

"Does Palpatine give a damn who the father is?"

Luke shrugged. "She wasn't supposed to get pregnant."

"Wasn't supposed to…" Her eyes flashed with indignant anger. "He shares her with others."

Again, Luke shrugged. "She's always been eager to share herself."

"Don't you think she deserves better?"

"Since when are you her champion?"

"I'm not her champion," Leia countered, straightening her spine so that they were closer in height. "But she's a citizen of Coruscant, and she has rights. She's not a pet, not a slave."

"No," Luke agreed. "But she is part of the Emperor's staff. He provides for her every need, want and desire and in exchange, she is physically and socially available to him when the need arises. Given the circumstances of her employment, specific types of loyalty are expected. The pregnancy shall interfere with her job." His mouth moved impatiently. "Let me assure you, she did not assume her position blindly, no matter how much she plays the part of the victim."

"Perhaps she lacked the luxury of choice."

"Choices are over-rated." Luke smiled wryly. "She actually tried to convince me the child might be mine."

The news didn't surprise her. "Is it?"

"Once upon a time, it could have been, but Roganda is fonder of games these days."

That was more than she had ever wanted to know about her brother's relationship with Roganda Ismaren. The comment was also the impetus to drive her to her feet and draw the pleated green dress over her shoulders. "In here?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No," she answered, although the prospect of spending the night in the Imperial Palace was almost more than she could bear. She thought of Palpatine's eyes again and shivered in her undergarments. Luke misinterpreted her fear for a chill, and removed his robe, swathing her in crimson. "What was your errand?"

"I was sent to ask someone a question."

"A question only you could ask?"

"You're angry," he countered, ignoring her prying altogether. 

"He knows," she burst out bitterly. "You swore he didn't but he does."

Her brother sighed regretfully, his eyebrows arching. "Well, I didn't tell him."

She wanted to believe him. She rubbed at her neck, which was tense and knotted from the stress of the evening. "I still don't know why I'm here. I hate that you treat my life so trivially, as though it's all disposable. I will never live here. Not within the confines of his… home."

"It's my home," Luke said, forehead creasing. "You're speaking nonsense. You can live here and we can go on as we have. Nothing will change. It doesn't matter"

"Except that I shall have become another of his pawns." Leia swung her chin in an arc and gestured around the suite. "Loyalties shall be expected of me."

Luke paced to the control panel and switched the image back to the outside gardens, his mouth sealed tightly. "The only loyalty expected of you is to me."

"To you? Logically, if it's to you than it's also to him. Well, I won't do it," she declared. "I won't live here, nor shall I become his servant, nor anything that will keep me within a kilometer of his presence! If you attempt to force me, it will be kicking and screaming."

The corner of Luke's mouth lifted in a sly, amused smile, and his eyes glinted gold. He slipped his index finger along the handle of his double-sided vibroblade. "Do you promise?"

She didn't see his foot snaking across the floor. The floor thwacked the back of her head so hard that she saw stars, even though the carpet provided thick padding. Her lungs gasped out a breath.

Luke fell over her spread eagle so that only his toes and fingertips touched the floor. Touching the bare skin of her shoulder with his thumb, as though he had every right. He was relaxed and confident, certain of his control over her. "Let's wager. If you win against me now," he whispered, "you never have to step foot in the palace again."

"If you win?"

"You stay the entire night."

Echani was an ancient hand-to-hand combat technique, practiced by the Echani warriors and unchanged after millennia. Luke had begun teaching her soon as soon as her wrist had healed. She'd never won against him – not when he hadn't intentionally allowed it. "It won't be fair."

"Nothing is, but I offer you a chance. Take it or leave it." He snapped to his feet in one graceful movement and reached for a spare blade. "Remember that you wear your anger across your shoulders and your arms tense up before you strike."

"I'll work on it," she growled, accepting the weapon and leaving the cloak like a pool of blood on the floor.

It was a chance and it was worth trying. She concentrated on relaxing her body before each strike. The points of the double-bladed vibroblade were rounded off metal, set, at this very moment, to stun lightly, not mortally wound.

Luke danced and pivoted, his blades coming at her faster and faster, clack-clacking against her own. Echani was an equally an art form, a method of communication and a method of combat. Echani philosophers believed that one's innermost feelings were revealed through the battle, that to know one fully, they must be fought - except to Leia, Luke was an enigma, indifferent, cold. It was as though all of his memories lived in darkness. Often she thought that if he could speak them aloud, expose them to the light, he might learn to be different. She remembered when he had been different. Finally, she caught him beneath the armpit, a vulnerable spot.

"Good," he said.

The momentary lapse invigorated him, and next he brought his blade down overhand and caught her before she could lock her elbows. Philosophy and bets aside, she was no match for his expertise, for his lean, raw strength and could do nothing more than react and block him. She pushed back, arms shaking with the vibroblade raised defensively. If this were a real battle, he would be prepared to yank the blade crosswise when her arms gave out. If this were a real battle, she would take the blade in the throat.

"This is how it all began," he said. "Do you remember?"

"Please." She dropped her arms when she should have ducked and twisted away from the coming blow.

Luke released his weapon before the blade could strike her and kissed her open-mouthed. She averted her face, hating that eventually her body would yield to his, just as she knew deep down that he hated needing her.

"Please, let me go," she pleaded.

He gathered and twisted her wrists together so tightly that pain lanced up her arms; she sank to her knees upon his cloak. "No."


	10. Chapter 10

 

Two weeks later, Han Solo materialized between the hanging strips of hylaian marsh bamboo that separated the lounge from the restaurant during Leia's second to last set at the _Manarai_. She lost tempo twice during the old-fashioned ballad, _Lonely Heart Spaceport_. Quietly, she motioned to the bass viol player to end the set early, and then she descended from the stage. In the darkened alcove by the lavish refreshers, where none of Xizor's holo-cameras were aimed, he cornered her.

"Captain Solo." Although her hear was pounding very hard and she was deeply pleased to see him, she feigned irritation and crossed her arms. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

"I have clients visiting from Obroa-skai," Han explained, hooking his thumbs inside his belt and leaning casually back against the alcove wall. He wore a long black jacket of Tomuon cloth, a finely tailored shirt which he filled out appealingly and close-fitting pants. "It's not my fault that Xizor has a snazzy advertising campaign running on holograms across the galaxy. That last song is an old favourite of mine. Sappy, but catchy." He regarded her for a moment before adding, "You look much better than you did last time I saw you."

"Yes." Leia reflexively adjusted the roses in her hair. "Thank you for the escort home."

"You're welcome." He glanced around quickly, then said in a low voice, "You didn't show for our last lesson and you haven't answered my comms."

She shifted, warily listening for footsteps. "Something came up."

"Meet me in a timepart.

"What about your clients from Obroa-skai?"

"They have a hankering to check out the bright lights of the Uscru District."

"Sabacc and exotic dancers." Leia arched an eyebrow. "You're not tagging along?"

"Why would I do that when you're a sure thing?"

Somehow, Han managed to say that and appear both charming and blithely seductive. Her heart jumped a little again. Anxiously, she skirted a glance towards the corner that eased into the lounge, half-expecting someone to turn the corner at any moment. "I am not a sure thing," she protested. "And you being here is a bad idea."

"Staying here would be worse," he said, raising the corner of his mouth higher.

"It _would_ ," she agreed. "So _don't_." A shadow fell across the floor. Leia slid her hand behind her, preparing to slip into the fresher, but she heard beeping and realized it was only a sweeper droid rounding the corner in search of ashes, crumbs and other types of detritus.

"Then meet me," he mouthed slowly and defiantly.

She knew better, but she agreed to meet him several blocks away from the _Manarai_. She walked slowly, surveying the area to make sure she wasn't being followed. Between the skyscrapers, she could see the pointed pyramid that marked the Imperial Palace. Involuntarily, she imagined the Emperor staring out his window and she thought of the Kel Dorians struggling to breathe fifty levels below. She'd been unable to watch the newsvids for the past two days, afraid they would be covering a terrible catastrophe in the sublevels.

The vehicle was spacious and full of stretched Corellian leather. There were portals built into the ceiling and floor so that one could see the criss-crossing lanes of sky traffic. Leia tucked her flowing skirts under her legs and sealed the door. "What kind of an idiot are you?"

"I've been told I can be as thick-headed as a bogtree and as stubborn as a clone trooper. But…" Han grinned crookedly. "I don't think she meant it."

Leia twitched with the compulsion to slap the grin off his face or grab him by the shoulders and kiss him. The setting was far too open. Before she could rethink it, he grabbed the controls and the airspeeder began moving again.

In a few heartbeats, the airspeeder quickly moved faster than the skylane limits and she gripped the armrest so fiercely the veins of her hand swelled to life. A neon sign for Skyroute _D27C_ flashed by them. The planet-city twinkled like thousands of gems. "Where are we going?"

"For the ride of your life, Sweetheart."

 

* * *

 

It was love and pain at first sight.

The first time Leia and _Rrakktorr's Revenge_ were officially introduced, the ship shocked her. She shuffled her slippered feet along the on-ramp and reached for the bulkhead as she stepped over the lip where the ramp and hatchway joined. The jolt, the shock, shot up her arm, into her elbow and funny bone. She gasped and yanked her arm back.

Then she took a step forward and blinked. Inside, she was sleek and dark. The inner corridors were matte black, and the metallic covering over the ducts and conduits rolled permanently open so that her innards were easily accessible. Instead of overhead lighting, thin, horizontal lines of glowstrips illuminated the passageways on either side. Two tie-down holsters with their tops cut off hung inside the hatchway entrance. Han was always armed, but his weapons were usually concealed. Leia knew that it couldn't always have been that way, not if he'd lived as a smuggler and needed to appear as though he would shoot to kill on a moment's notice.

Leia ran her hand along the wall affectionately, admiring his handiwork. No hired technician had ever touched the interior of his ship. It felt like him, it smelled like him. "You've done a great deal of work on her."

"She makes point five past lightspeed without even a shudder," Han boasted proudly. "She was my first big purchase after the company started to take off. I'd never bought a new ship before. I spent a year making modifications and remodeling. I reinforced the hull with titanium. I replaced the sublight engines, I added a military-class sensor system and state-of-the-art weapon systems." He grinned and ran a hand through his hair. "My line of business came in handy.

"I'll bet. She's beautiful."

"She's beautiful _and_ she could take out a _Star Destroyer_ if the occasion called for it."

Leia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but she couldn't stop herself from grinning back. "In your dreams."

"I'm an optimist," he conceded with easy charm and _that_ smile again. "She could at least take out the command bridge."

Han tugged at her hand, and she all but jogged to keep with his long strides through the corridor. The YT-2400 had originally been designed for two pilots, but the _Rrakktorr's_ cockpit had been modified for one. Han sank into the central pilot's chair gracefully and with such a commanding air that Leia could only sink into the smaller, offset companion chair without question.

"So where are we going?" she asked, hitching her slippers on the footrest and feeling overdressed in the thin gown. She had not had her fake identification with her, but at the spaceport, Han had pressed a credit chit into the CoreSec officer's palm and said he wouldn't need hyperspace clearance today.

"Just like I said." He grinned like a crazy man, both eyebrows raised. "The ride of your life. Strap in."

Earlier, she hadn't been able to tell if it was an innuendo or not. She waited until he'd brought the engines to life and then she leaned forward and punched him lightly in the bicep. " _Where_?"

"Did you know there are underground canyons under the glaciers at the South Pole?"

Leia shook her head and fastened her crash webbing, all too aware of the time. Luke would ask questions if the concierge reported that she had arrived home in the middle of the night. 

"There's one big one in the Carish Glacier, a well-kept secret. It's a thousand kilometers long. Mostly thrill-seekers fly there, or pilot's wanting to fine-tune their reflexes with real practice, not sims. It's a blast. I thought we could have some fun."

In the matter of a timepart, night turned to day. Unlike the _Spirit of Nyenthi'Oris_ , the _Rrakktorr_ felt fast. There was something sterile about the _Spirit_ , as though too many people had looked after her or owned her and she was forever in search of her own character. _This_ ship was designed for speed and maneuverability. Even her engines purred. She watched Han's gloved hands fly nimbly over the controls and longed to be able to command the ship the way he did. The longing was intense, like needing sex or food or air. Or freedom.

Within the grip of low atmosphere, a ship felt different, almost alien; with the alluvial dampers switched off, the controls trembled and bucked and Leia could feel every little movement, every gravitational thrust or pull. She knew that for an inexperienced pilot, this type of feeling could be lethally misleading, that he or she might rely on their physical senses and not on the ship's sensors. Additionally, jet streams, airflows, and atmospheric storms all produced enough turbulence to send a novice pilot into a panic.

They flew in low over a few turbo-ski hills and resorts before ducking into a yawning chasm. Between the steep, sharp walls of glistening ice, the _Rrakktorr's Revenge_ flew like a spire falcon hunting prey. They travelled through several passes, each narrower than the last. Glassy blue walls moved by her face so fast that in her peripheral vision she saw a solitary, glistening sheet. Leia felt like a young girl, breathless with irrepressible exhilaration.

A bridge of ice stretched across both edges of the crevasse and the _Rrakktorr_ spun gracefully onto her side and down, and then up again, traveling with breathtaking speed.

She remembered Han saying no one flew this ship but him. "Will you permit me to pilot back?" she wondered aloud.

"Maybe." Han rubbed at the back of his neck, his grip on the controls easing. "First, how about you tell me where you're going when you leave."

Leia instinctively shook her head. She hadn't the faintest clue _where_ , except that it would be as far from Coruscant as possible.

Han's face instantly sharpened. "Your brother is something. I heard about that incident with the Kalzerian."

"What?" The incident was months old. Fortunately, the amputation had been clean and the Kalzerian had only lost his hand temporarily. "How did you hear?" 

"It happened in a public place." The Corellian glanced at her, his hazel eyes tight and crinkling. "There were more than a dozen witnesses."

A Jade rose tumbled into her lap and she carefully gathered up the broken rose so that the cockpit deck wouldn't be strewn with dying petals later. "My brother is a trusted member of the Emperor's inner circle. He angers quickly and isn't always rational."

"I know his type. He doesn't scare me."

"He should," she said sternly. "People close to me tend to lose more than they bargained for. I warned you the night we met."

The look that settled across his lean features was so carefully composed that the most fearsome species in the underlevels of Coruscant would have scurried away from him. "I have money and I have connections," he said. "You'd be a fool to pass those up."

"I don't need anyone to rescue me," she said, striving to sound determined. "Not you, not anyone else. I never asked for that."

Han skirted another long glance at her. "You don't need rescuing, but you do need my help. You did ask for that, remember?"

"I asked for flight lessons," she said. In the looming distance, the chasm narrowed precariously. Even from afar, no calculations were necessary. The _Rrakktorr_ was too wide. "Han, be careful," she pleaded.

Han sighed in exasperation, and at the last possible second, he angled the ship gracefully onto her port side. Leia didn't dare argue with him now. She gripped the armrest tighter with her free hand and forced herself to breathe, grateful for the crash webbing. _He's a skilled pilot_ , she reminded herself. A darkened part of her mind imagined dying down there, anonymously. Luke would never know what had happened to her. The struggle would be over and she could give up fighting Luke's threats and the Emperor's twisted promises.

No sooner had the morbid notion crossed her mind than Han emitted a startled _whoop_. She looked up to see a blur of gold rushing toward them. There was scarcely time for her mind to process that they were about to collide with another ship; the _Rrakktorr_ dipped violently, and there came the terrible sound of ice scraping the underside of the hull while the entire ship vibrated and screamed.

Leia thought it would never end, but swearing, Han clawed her back under control, his hands moving over the controls like the talons of a deranged nashtah hound.

Han wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and released a hoot of wild laughter. "That was close," he exclaimed.

Her eyes widened. " _Close_?"

"That ship didn't show up on any sensors. She must have been flying with a cloaking device."

"You were flying with your ego," she accused hotly. The sound of her own frantic breathing filled the cockpit.

"What ego? Sweetheart, that was child's play. Try flying hot with a dozen Corporate Sector Authority starfighters on your ass, damaged shields and a hyperdrive that bails on you. Hang tight. We're almost there."

"Almost where?" All she could see were snow and ice and a narrow stretch of blue sky high above them.

The ship took sanctuary on a snow-covered ledge tucked into the side of the crevasse. She unfastened her crash webbing and stood up, dropping the rose on her seat. Tendrils of white-blue light stretched into the depths and she could almost see forever if she stretched her eyes. A strange rosy glow illuminated the underside of the ship. Leftover inertia brought her heart up into her throat. It _was_ truly a testament to his reflexes that they had escaped unscathed, even if his own recklessness was to blame.

Han scanned the incoming data on the primary console for reports of damage. Eventually, his shoulders relaxed and he turned around, looking pleased with himself. "That was a fine stretch of flying if I do say so myself."

"Wow." Leia tilted her head and arched her eyebrows sternly. "Were you trying to impress me?"

He stood up and removed his fine Tomuon wool jacket. He carefully folded it in half and draped it over the back of his chair. "Didn't it work?"

" _No_." She stomped her foot lightly, but her slipper barely made a sound.

Han moved nearer in one fluid step with his hand outstretched. "C'mon."

"Why?" Leia scowled and shoved her palm up against his sternum.

"I want to show you something." Han glanced down at her attempt to restrain him with a bemused expression. "If you'd rather stay here and fume yourself silly, go ahead."

Curiosity got the better of her. She followed him down the passageway, past the first cargo cold, past an airlock, past the main hold and galley. His destination was the _Rrakktorr's_ belly gun and he hopped down the ladder and crammed his body between the gunner's chair and the curved transparisteel. A belly gun was an utterly impractical place for two people, but it made a fantastic viewport beneath the belly of the ship. Han had landed so that the ship precariously straddled a deep, narrow fissure. It glowed red from deep within and if she strained her eyes, she could almost make out patterns like lace and snowflakes.

She crossed her feet and half-crouched beside the gunner's chair for a better look. "It's beautiful."

"It is."

"Why does it glow?"

"It's a rare type of phosphorescent algae that lives in the air pockets inside the ice." Han rubbed his chin. "The scientists think it's pre-colonisation."

"And when the ice melts?"

"No one knows yet. It has another thousand years."

At the Imperial Palace, she had been restless, unable to sleep and for longer than she cared to admit, she had stared at the pair of vibroblades discarded on the floor beside the bed. In the twilight before she fell asleep, her mind was often at its clearest. That night, it occurred to her that perhaps her brother wasn't deliberately cruel or unfeeling; perhaps he was like the thousands of wild predators roaming jungle planets such as Myrkr or Haruun Kal, a natural hunter and carnivore that only did what was in his nature, an animal that couldn't help dominating her because she was weaker than he. And if that was case, then she should accept that if she ever wanted to win against him, she needed to fight him like an animal, go after him when he was at his weakest.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind, then Luke had awoken beside her, eyes half-mast, looking surprisingly young and innocent _._ "You're not capable of murdering in cold blood," he'd said softly. "You're not a killer. Never have been, never will be. You weren't lying. You're not like me."

Her brother was right. He was never going to let her go and she would never be able to free herself while on Coruscant. It didn't matter what kind of help Han Solo was offering or how tempted she was to accept. She couldn't take it.

After a time, Leia used the handle of the turret gun to hoist herself up. Most of her anger had dissipated, drifting aimlessly somewhere down below. They climbed back up the ladder to the passageway. Han leaned back on his hands and she sat beside him and dangled her legs inside the turret, the red glow a cold beneath her slippers. His outer thigh was warm against her own and her body still pulsed with leftover adrenaline, an intense rippling of giddy, physical alertness. She stared down the corridor at an old decrepit sword and misshapen sections of metal. The arrangement was mounted on the bulkhead that opened into the galley, ugly and out of place. She wouldn't have taken Han Solo for a sentimental man, but she had miscalculated him more than once.

"Thank you," she said, surprised by how much she meant it.

"Any time." Han unfastened his shirt cuffs and began to roll them up as if removing his jacket wasn't enough to make him comfortable. Then he casually reached up and traced his finger lightly over her bare shoulder. It was the first time he had touched her today and she could feel her entire body warm all over.

Leia made an encouraging _hmm_. "Does this mean I'm flying back?"

"I didn't say that."

"You could." She smiled at him sweetly for emphasis.

"I don't show this place to all the lounge singers on Coruscant."

"I'm flattered. But a deal is a deal."

"Read the fine print, Sweetheart." Han grinned and pulled up the hem of her dress so that her legs were bare from the thighs down. "This is a joyride."

His point was debatable, but Leia decided to give up negotiating her way into the _Rrakktorr's_ pilot seat, at least temporarily. She stared down into the gun turret again, her bare legs glowing pink. She leaned back on her palms, feeling the grates dig into the pads beneath her thumbs, intending to list the terrible repercussions that would befall him if he ever hunted her down inside the Manarai. But instead, she watched his fingers dance over her bare knee, then his large, warm hand settle over her thigh.

She said, loudly, "I am _not_ a sure thing."

Han laughed uninhibitedly. "So what? I am."

The laughter was contagious. It was easy to forget the money, the reputation, and the business he was in. "Do you always get what you want?"

"Nah." He leaned nearer and pressed his mouth against the warm hollow of her ear.  "I used to be a stellar-class hotshot."

He kissed her, hard at first, and then softly, as if they had another thousand years too. His mouth was hot and he smelled like his expensive Tomuon jacket. She raised her arms and gripped his upper arms, squeezing hard. Her insides pulled at her in white hot flashes, leaving her with a full, heavy ache.

"So?" His hand wandered further up her leg and sensations began trickling down her spine and through her limbs. "You want to find a bed?"

" _Yes_."

He helped her to stand, maneuvering his hands higher under her dress to reach her waist. "I'll even apologize for scaring you."

"Only if you permit me to apologize too," she said, for a thousand different reasons, mostly because she and Iolu Praji had only discussed running away together, there were no hidden credits in offworld bank accounts and when Han had punched the access codes into the _Rrakktorr's Revenge_ , she had memorized them.


End file.
